A Stroke of Fate
by Diary
Summary: AU. Edward VI miraculously recovers from his illness, and Frances Grey works to dissolve her daughter's marriage to Guildford Dudley, determined Jane will be the king's bride. WIP. Edited slightly.
1. Rare Times

Disclaimer: I do not own The Tudors.

…

"You cannot ask this of me."

"Your son is worthless, John, and you have three others," the Duchess of Suffolk says, her words calm and blunt. "My daughter's wrists are black, and any midwife who examined her most private of areas would swear she was badly mishandled on her marriage bed. Help me wed Jane to the King, and you need not fear; everything we've strived for will come to head. If you don't, I will seek an audience with him, and I'll cry and grasp his cloak, begging him to send my poor, poor daughter to some nunnery. He'll demand to see the bruises with his own eyes, he'll summon the best midwives of the kingdom to examine her, and great punishment will befall your son, you, and possibly even your wife. Guildford will see death, for sure, and who knows what horrors you'll be subjected to?"

"The King could still relapse," the Duke of Northumberland hisses. "And then, where will-"

"When I thought Jane was close to Queendom, I accepted her abuse, knowing she would soon be powerful enough to make sure he never laid another vile finger on her," she says, a hint of anger seeping in her voice. "She'll never get the crown if we wait for him to die. He's talking of marrying soon. Children are sure to follow. Now that he has miraculously survived what you said he had no chance of, our only hope is to somehow prove the marriage illegitimate and convince him to wed her."

"What of your youngest daughter?"

"Oh, yes, the King shall take an ugly, little hunchback as his bride," she replies, sarcastically. "No, there is no need to worry about making a decent match for her. Once Jane is Queen, Mary can keep the chambers and be one of her sleeping maids."

Sighing, he puts his face between his hands. "My son, Frances. I confess easily enough that I despise the lad, but he is my blood."

"The blood of Charles Brandon runs through my veins," she says, quietly. "The blood of Queen Mary of France does as well. Do you know that they used to say the former was a son of a whore? He could have had everything, John, if he'd been willing to take it. Oh, but so great was his love for the King that he didn't dare contemplate it. In his eyes as he read to me, in his voice as he addressed King Henry, in his actions before and after my birth, the truth was clear. I hold none of his foolish romanticism. Your son is useless to me, and though I confess easily enough that I despise the lass, I will not see the grandchild of King Henry broken by a vile brat such as yours. Jane will be Queen, if I have to destroy you and everyone else of importance to see it happen."

"What of Katherine? The Earl of Pembroke is trying to get her marriage to his son annulled. You've said yourself she is much more malleable than Jane is. Not to mention, a sight prettier."

"We both know the King has never looked at her with anything other than brotherly affection; it is Jane he dances with, Jane who makes him laugh, and Jane who has been his since they were young children."

"Here's what we do, then," he says, defeated.

…

"What ails you so, my duke?"

Sighing, John Dudley sets his knife down. "I've always tried to be a good father, your grace. My wife, I'd almost say is a saint, for no mother is as patient and loving as she. Yet, the Lady Frances has been talking to me, and despite my best efforts to raise my boys as solid Christians and good husbands, I have failed terribly."

King Edward VI lowers his goblet. "Your son Guildford's marriage to the Lady Jane is proving to be an unhappy one?"

"Worse," John says, sorrowfully. "Lady Frances has informed me my daughter-in-law's wrists are black and that her daughter has confided much worse injuries to her. There is disciplining of wives, and then, there is outright abuse. How could I have gone so wrong, I wonder?"

For a moment, there is silence, and then, Edward says, distantly, "Just as the sins of the father shan't fall upon his heirs, neither should the sins of the heirs follow upon his ancestor, my duke." Blinking, he comes back to himself. "John, you do realise I must do something with this knowledge? Lady Jane is much too precious to us."

"Yes, your majesty. Though, I beg you for mercy. I know my son is a wretch, but the failure does rest on myself. Please, I beg of you, don't punish him too harshly. Punish me in his place, if you must."

"We need to think on this," Edward says, looking down at his full plate. "Have this put outside the gates."

"Yes, my King," John says, inclining his head.

…

Jane Grey shivers as the others leave, resisting the urge to beg them to stay.

Her mother moves silently, even more like a vulture than usual. "There will be no more herbs applied to your wrists, daughter."

"Yes, my lady," Jane murmurs, obediently, the pain in them flaring up. She's too tired to fight. Her books have been locked away, her in-laws and their servants have been treating her as if she were dirt, and now, with her mother returning from court, she's back under her harsh thumb. The only thing she has to be grateful for is that her courses have started. As painful as they are, at least, she can try to pretend she hasn't committed adultery in her heart. A child would make that impossible.

"This isn't punishment, child," Frances tells her, picking up a hairbrush and beginning to brush her hair. "I had thought Dudley would be useful; since he has proven himself otherwise, he must be dealt with. In two days, you will go to court. When the King inquires about your marriage, you must let him know what he's done."

"Mother, I can't," Jane gasps out, before she can stop herself. "Edward- The King, he will blame himself."

She remembers his pleading eyes, the way he'd looked at her as a friend, asked her as one, both knowing he could order her. She'd agreed. What else could she do? By request or command, his will would be done, and aside from his valued friendship, he was so sick, barely smiling, death seeming to ominously dog his every breath. Agreeing as a friend rather than a servant had made him smile and look at her with soft, untroubled eyes.

Some horrendous part of her does blame him, as well as everyone else who refused to listen to her, to let her refuse. However, she tries her best to exorcise that part, and despite sometimes feeling it rather sharply, she can't stand the thought of him blaming himself. Her family is greedy and sought advancement; he sincerely believed the marriage would help strengthen the Reformation, a goal they both know must be relentlessly pursued.

Frances sighs, the brush stilling. "This is your one chance, Jane. I had to beat you and confine you to bed with no food to accept this marriage. Now, your freedom to pursue your studies is within grasp. One way or another, the King will be informed. If I do it, you label yourself as weak in his eyes. His kindness towards you will increase, yet, at the same time, his friendship towards you will decrease. Edward holds so much admiration for you, the strong-willed scholar. Do you think you can regain a King's respect once you've lost it? It's neigh impossible for a woman to gain a man's, never mind regaining. Compare your position to his, and you have no chance, Jane."

Jane closes her eyes against the tears, taking a shuddering breath.

In the smooth metal used for a looking glass, Frances looks at her daughter and resumes brushing. Every person has their price, and just as her father's was forbidden love, so too is her firstborn's.

…

"Damn that fever," Frances declares, two days later, as she tests the makeshift carriage restraints. When Mary was six, a spooked horse had overturned the carriage it was leading, causing Mary to follow against the door, resulting in a nasty spilt across her head and a week of non-responsiveness. Frances had had buttoned leather straps sewn into the plush seating. Now, two straps are over Jane's shoulders, ending at her waist, two more are waist height, and buttoning holds the four together. "I will have words with the hay seller."

"I'll protect your girl, Madam," Adrian Stokes promises.

"See that you do," Frances says, glaring at the temperamental leading horse. "And remember that your life is easily forfeit if you misstep. Lady Jane's chaperone is well-trained with a knife."

"Yes, Madam," he says in no particular tone.

Frances places her hand on Jane's cheek. "Go with God, and remember your family, Jane Grey."

"Yes, my lady," Jane says, trying not to squirm within the restraints. "I pray God keeps you and my lord Father well while I'm away."

…

Jane curtsies and remembers trying to pull herself into a kneeling position, her bottom and upper legs on fire, and Edwards rushing over, gathering her in his arms. Now, he's much stronger, solid skin hiding his bones, the colour of it nowhere near as pale. "Your Majesty," she greets, accepting his hand.

"Cousin Jane," he says, leaning forward to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. "Come and sit with me."

She follows, gentle warmth persistently present against her cheek.

They sit in a corner, the other courtiers recognising their King's desire to talk to her without interruption. "How goes your marriage, cousin?"

"Not as well as it could, sire," Jane answers, as she fidgets. "For Guildford and I are two different people."

"Has he mistreated you, my lady," Edward asks, voice firm and calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, she adjusts her body so that the others can't see and lifts up her sleeves, revealing her wrists. They are no longer a deep black, but there is still a dark tint to the bruising. "Some would say my husband is passionate," she says, refusing to look him in the face. "I was warned that the nuptial bed was somewhat painful for the virgin bride."

"He had no cause," Edward snaps, causing her to look up in surprise at the intensity in his tone.

Carefully, he reaches over, tracing the bruises. "Is there any possibility you are with child, Cousin Jane?"

"No, Your Majesty," she answers. "My courses arrived shortly after our consummation."

"Good." Withdrawing his hands, he locks eyes with her. "I am sorry, Lady Jane. Kings are not infallible, and I made a mistake in not listening to your objections. However, I assure you that I will find a way to dissolve this marriage. Until then, the youngest Dudley boy will not be welcome at court."

"Edward, please, I beg you not to blame yourself. You did what you thought was best for the Reformation, and though I confess to wanting nothing more than to be free of him, I don't wish any of our souls risked. I made a vow to be a good wife, and as with everything, I shall try to honour my word."

"You can't," he says. Before she can respond, he continues, "No woman can be a good wife if the man she married is an unsuitable husband. Husbands may discipline their wives, Lady Jane, but they are also commanded to cherish and protect them as God cherishes and protects His children."

…

Thomas Cranmer looks at the portrait of his old friend. "Fear not, Lord Secretary," he says, quietly, nursing his drink. "Soon enough, England shall have both a Reformist King and Queen. And God willing, a child will soon follow. Unlike his father, King Edward will accept a female successor if need be."

"I've heard gossip, you see," he continues, "from a most trusted source. His Majesty's cousin is a comely creature, full of a lust for knowledge. Unfortunately, her parents consented to have her marry a brute of a boy, and though not as possessive as his father, the young King does not take kindly to this state of things. Already, an emergency meeting of his religious advisors has been called. It shall be easy enough to convince the public to accept Lady Jane's extradition from Dudley and binding to the King."

…

"Hush, child," Eleanor says, leading her charge by the wrist.

"But Nurse," Mary Grey insists, "why have you brought me out into public? Mother and Father will be furious if they find out."

More than that, she herself doesn't want to be in public where people can jeer at her. Once, when she was younger, some children even threw fruit at her, encouraged by their parents. At home, so long as she stays out of the way of her parents, she is safe and treated kindly. Eleanor is kind, encouraging her love of embroidery, and Kat often comes, bringing her sweets. Jane rarely comes, but when she does, she'll read softly.

"Your lord father and lady mother have made a right muckery of things," Eleanor says, voice a bit sharp. "One gel unhappily married to a drunkard, the other about to be annulled. Well, they shan't be alive forever, and nor shall I. If you've got to settle for a butcher or a small-village lawyer, then, by God, at least, you'll have a warm home and plenty of food. If you become a ward of the crown, they'll send you to a harsh nunnery, make no doubt about it."

"You mean to find me a husband," Mary says, disbelief tinging her tone. "Nurse, this is madness!"

"Has't thee a better idea," Eleanor inquires, moving stealthily down the streets. "Your reading and writing is solely lacking, never mind your number skills, and you can't dance, sing, or play the instruments well. Doing well at cards is nice but not much of a bargaining chip. When it was thought your eldest sister might be Queen, there was always a place for thee in her sleeping chambers, but now, that plan is gone. If Miss Kat is lucky enough to find another decent husband, she won't press her luck by bringing thee."

"No, I've held you since you were three days old, chased away your nightmares, and always done my best to make sure you were a good Christian while keeping a happy smile on thine face. My duty is far from done. We'll find thee a good man to wed."

"If I was plain-looking or pretty, that wouldn't be a problem," Mary points out. "But now, that's the same problem that will keep me from finding any husband."

"God graces those who do His works with inner beauty. A beautiful soul is far more valuable than a pleasing Earthly body," Eleanor says, sharply. "There are always blind men, men with motherless children, and men who wish nothing more than a docile helpmeet."

Mary appreciates the words but doubts they apply to her. She knows common prayers and the stories of The Bible, but unlike Jane, who is brilliant on matters of religion, she knows very little than that. God loves His children, and His children should return that love. Christians should be kind to others, give charity if they are able, obey their King as they obey God and their parents, and say their prayers. Catholics have Mass, confession, and other rituals, and Reformists have their own ideas.

For her part, Mary simply does as she's bade, whether that be to attend Mass and accept communion or to read the books Jane's tutors provided. She thinks she prefers Catholicism, simply because all the rituals are easy to perform without thought. The books and the lectures by Reformists require thought, and she often finds herself mentally stumbling, confused and bored.

They stop, and Eleanor adjusts Mary's veil and headdress. "We'll start with the bakeries, my dear. Your sweet tooth might well catch us a husband."

…

"I have reason to believe our cousin, Lady Jane Grey, is illegitimately married to Guildford Dudley," Edward announces, studying the reactions of the other men. "If this is so, I require the cause be found as quickly as possible. Lady Jane is a valuable supporter of the Reformation, and if she agrees, I have a mind to make her a bride to the Spanish throne. She would largely sway them away from Popery."

"Your Majesty," Archbishop Cranmer says, tentatively.

"Yes, your grace?"

"If I may, there are rumours Lady Jane Grey most vehemently objected to the match and only consented after harsh punishment from her parents. If she can and will swear this, that her only reason for consent was due to fear of further harm to herself, the marriage is invalid. Marriage requires both man and woman willingly enter it."

"Yes," Lord Thomason interjects. "The law makes a distinction between a person who gives alms to beggars in charity and one who hands over his purse after being threatened with a sword. I imagine, theologically, there is an equivalent."

"There is," the archbishop confirms.

Edward nods, knowing his next words require him to speak carefully. "If an illegitimate marriage is consummated, what does that make the woman? Monarchs are wary, rightfully, of non-virgins who don't have the excuse of a previous marriage."

"Your Majesty, I believe several saints, though Catholic, were right in declaring raped women still virgins. If a woman is tricked into bed, that is a form of rape. If Lady Jane laid next to Dudley, erroneously believing she was consummating a valid marriage or through him physically forcing himself upon her, she would still be a virgin. And if she were to have children, I believe the case could be made that her children, while technically bastards, deserve a special acknowledgement of legitimacy, since it was obviously God's will and not hers that she should have them without a proper father."

"Then," Edward says, "this invalid marriage must be made known and dispensed of immediately."

He stands, and the others follow suit.

…

"By damn, you've done it now, Frances," Henry roars.

Frances ignores him, looking out at the window at the misshapen brat who ruined her chances of bearing more children. The child is incredibly short for her age, fat, and with a splotchy, pockmarked face. She's playing a game of cards with one of the servants while her nurse sits nearby, working on her sketching.

Though she doesn't know why, Frances does know that, earlier, the nurse took her youngest daughter out into public.

"She will drag our characters through the mud, you know she will," Henry continues. "She'll happily declare we used the most heinous of methods to force her into the marriage!"

Jane wasn't the son she wanted. Katherine, she forgave, due to her being the second born and a sight prettier than Jane. Mary was a disgrace to them all; one she preferred to pretend didn't exist.

There are rare times when a person is granted sudden realisation.

For all her haughtiness, the King's miraculous survival, her eldest daughter's hatred of her, her youngest beginning to rebel, Frances is struck, as with ice, that God is not on her side. No matter, though, she once promised baby Jane the throne, and even if it harms her and Henry, she'll see it happen.

"Enough, Henry," she says, sharply. "You were hesitant for Jane to marry Guildford, and unlike me, you have an actual fondness for the girl. At worst, you'll be cast as the bumbling father. I will be cast as the evil one. We'll have to make do. The only way to provide a good marriage for Katherine and ensure Mary isn't left to a dingy nunnery is to make sure Jane, whatever harms she does against us, is married to Edward. God granted us no son, and our riches and titles are lost to the family name. All we have left to recommend us is the well-being of those three."

"Now," she says, as he begins to open his mouth, "I shall go talk to our youngest, Mary."

…

"But why would a cat curl up inside a hat," Mary inquires, dealing the cards.

The servant is about to answer, but a shadow falls, and his mouth briefly snaps shut. "Marchioness," he says, slipping from his chair onto to his knees.

Bewildered, Mary looks to Eleanor, who looks over and hastily motions for her to stand and turn. When she does, Mary kneels, muttering, "My lady mother," her head bowed.

"Rise," the marchioness orders them all. "You're dismissed," she says, to the servant, taking his place. "Sit down, daughter, and show me how skilled you are at cards. If you can beat me for three games, I shall give you a modest purse for you to spend at your own pleasure."

"Yes, my lady," Mary says, voice making clear her incomprehension.

…

"You must be prepared," Edward says that night as they sit in his chambers, several courtiers of both sexes sitting across the room. "I've been informed Bishop Gardiner is subtly showing signs of resistance to your annulment. If he makes his views explicit, the Catholic faction of the court will strongly contest it."

"Of course," Jane says, looking down at her cards. Laying them facedown, she takes a breath. "Edward- Thank you. Aside from my nurse, you are one of my truest friends."

Nodding, he hesitates for a moment, and then, reaches over to touch her hand. "If you ever marry, Lady Jane, you must receive my approval beforehand. However, I promise you I will never again force you into a marriage against your will. You have my solemn vow that you are free to remain unmarried for as long as you wish. And if the man you choose is a good man of the Reformist religion, deserving of your love, I will happily consent to the marriage."

Picking her cards back up, she gives him a shy smile, which he returns.


	2. Everything Changes

"I know you intend to fight it," Thomas Cranmer says, softly, a hint of drink still within his voice.

Stephen Gardiner sighs, pouring a cup of milk for his once-friend. "I'm not your enemy, Archbishop," he answers, taking a sip of the cup before setting it down. "Look at the bigger picture."

"You've recanted your part in helping with the previous King's divorce."

"You feel the same guilt as I," Stephen replies, mildly. "Mistress Nan is dead, as well as her brother, that poor musician, and how many other people? Princess Mary feels her brother is torturing her, and Princess Elizabeth would strike them both dead and take the throne if she thought she could get away with it. We both know there's always a chance the King will relapse, and if so, Mary will go after you, I, and so many others. Elizabeth will be used as a pawn."

"What does any of that have to do with Lady Jane's marriage? I've seen her wrists, Stephen, and her mother might be a snake, but I don't believe she'd lie about the state of her daughter's most private areas. The King has already talked of bringing in midwives, not because he disbelieves his cousin but because having her injuries documented will strengthen the case. Lady Frances seems to be counting on them being brought in; she wouldn't be fool enough to lie in this case."

"This isn't about her, Thomas," Stephen says, quietly. "We all see how he looks upon her. My sympathy for the young lady does not exceed my fear for the kingdom. If the annulment is granted, he will marry her. And if she can't provide children, if she can't provide boys, if he slowly discovers he wishes a stupider, more pliant wife, if he impregnates a mistress, by God, he'll use this case as a way to be rid of her. Perhaps, she'll retire quietly, or perhaps, she'll fight until the very end. Either way, there will be an uproar. She is the granddaughter of a royal, anointed Queen. Supporters of Mary and Elizabeth both will use this as an excuse to further the two Princesses. And God forbid any of the three children of King Henry have children of their own when all this happens."

Shaking his head, he sighs. "If you trump up charges to throw the youngest Dudley boy in the tower, I will support you. If there's some convent or country Lady Jane could find peace in, I'll pay the price to place her there, if need be. But I won't help the King as I helped his father."

Cranmer laughs, bitterly. "Spare me your kindness, your grace. Throughout it all, better men than both of us have fallen. You take your side, and I will take mine. And the first one to Hell- well, they shall have the thought of knowing it shan't be long until the other is suffering just as much."

…

"Tell me, Master Holbein, how do you find the Spanish princess?"

"A pretty young woman," the artist replies, diplomatically. "She made me a very warm scarf."

A part of him is tempted to advise the young King, but he's always tried his best to stay out of court politics. He'll succeed by his talent or die from his lack of it. The truth is she reminds him strongly of a friendlier version of Mistress Seymour. She's a naïve child of fourteen, intelligent enough but lacking an interest in the written word, kind and biddable.

Queen Jane desired her stepdaughters be well-educated and raised as proper Christians, but she had no strong opinions on religion herself and very little intellectual knowledge, complying with whatever her husband decreed to be right, which was likely for the best when it came to King Henry. King Edward, however, believes his duty as head of the Church requires him to be routinely challenged, considering the times he's proven wrong to be a sign of God speaking to him. If his future bride doesn't occasionally challenge him, he'll have very little use for her as a person, Holbein believes.

"And her brother?"

"Still a staunch Catholic," he answers, knowing that's what the King cares about. "Quite the poet, however."

"Jane is fond of poetry," the King mutters, and Holbein is unsure if the remark is directed towards him or not. "Though, I wager she's more talented than he."

"If his majesty means Lady Jane Dudley, then, yes, I can tell you she is," Holbein answers. "She once wrote a poem about one of my paintings; it was beautifully, cleverly done. I imagine it's good none of his potential brides are reported to have her skill; what an unhappy marriage that would make."

He's always tried his best to stay out of court politics, but sometimes, he simply can't help himself. He's heard the rumours of the eldest Grey girl's dissolving marriage, and if Lady Jane were to wed King Edward, he'd have a powerful patron in his corner. He trusts her judgement and knows she'd never favour him if his talent dissipated.

The King looks up. "I suppose so. Master Holbein, Jane's marriage is no true marriage; soon, there will be an annulment. I ask you to remember that and address her as if she were a maiden."

"Of course, your majesty," he answers, bowing.

…

"You should know, my lady," Doctor Roger Ascham says, "there is talk that King Edward wishes to marry you."

Biting her lip, Jane looks down at her translations. "I've barely been here three days, and already, there is so much talk."

"Hmm," he murmurs. "If the King does make his interest explicit?"

"Who's to say his interest is existent rather than mere rumours, Doctor?"

"Jane, if you don't wish to speak of such matters, I won't take offense- so long as you are candid. If you wish to speak, you must trust in me and not coat your words with so much subtlety and tact."

She sighs and scans the room very carefully. "Once, Edward said that if he were a regular man, he'd be happy to marry me, for we are so similar in many ways. At the time, however, he was promised to Princess Elisabeth of France. Because of that, I thought it safe to share a secret, you see. I told him I feared my parents marrying me because my heart had already pledged itself to someone else. I do not think he will use the fact I committed non-physical adultery in the matter of my divorce or annulment; he only pushed the marriage to Guildford when he was sure he would be dead soon and believed it best for the Reformation. But he's given me his promise he'll never force me into another marriage, and so, I don't believe he'll ever ask for my hand."

Echoing her sigh, Roger looks at her with pity and fondness.

…

"Your daughters' nurse means to find Lady Mary a husband," Adrian announces.

"Oh, dear God," Frances mutters, rubbing her head. "Please, tell me you are joking."

"I don't joke, Madam," Adrian answers. "She means to find your youngest girl a well-off tradesman, likely a widower with children."

Making a noise of frustration, Frances pinches her nose. She'll have to put a stop this, naturally. A common marriage on the part of Mary or Katherine might well ruin Jane's chances of marrying Edward.

Damn that nurse's protectiveness over the girls, she thinks, exasperated. If Jane is made Queen, Mary will be one of her sleeping maids. Kat will be able to make a good marriage, and if something should happen to Jane, Mary will have a place at the house of Kat's husband.

"And what of Jane?"

"She's doing well at court. Though always chaperoned, the King eats his meals with her and plays cards with her in his chambers every night."

"How is her behaviour?"

"I'd say it's above reproach, Madam, but whether you'd say the same or not, I don't know. I've heard no gossip about her doing wrong."

"That'll have to do," she replies, digging out her purse of coins. Handing some to him, she says, "As always, I thank you for your service."

…

"My nurse is coming," Jane comments, taking a sip from her goblet.

Edwards looks up from his food. "Indeed?"

"I suspect," she says, quietly, "my mother is afraid I'll cause a scandal if I do not have a watcher under her direct employ."

He laughs, softly, and several courtiers briefly glance over, unused to such a sound from their King. "A scandal, my lady? Cousin Jane, you're one of the most virtuous women I've ever met."

"I caused some trouble at Princess Mary's court," she admits, looking down. "She did not appreciate my comments in regards to the practise of curtseying to the host."

"One thing I've always appreciated about you is your honesty and sincerity of convictions. In this world, being polite isn't always a viable option."

Jane feels herself unable to contain a smile. "Thank you, Edward."

"It will be all better, soon."

She nods. "All better."

…

The Duchess of Northumberland stands imperviously. "Marchioness, do you realise the shame this has brought to my family? Your ungrateful, ill-bred daughter will not continue to make a villain of my son!"

Frances is about to reply, anger boiling, when suddenly, there's a soft, "My lady? Is everything well? I heard shouting? Shall I fetch someone?"

Sighing, she and the duchess both look over to see Mary, looking fearfully between them. "No," she answers. "The Duchess of Northumberland was just expressing her unkind thoughts towards your sister Jane. You must remember this, daughter, in case you are called upon to testify. Tell the court how wretched of a mother-in-law Jane had to contend with!"

When the other woman swells, Frances continues, "Listen, and listen well, Jane Dudley: Aside from Katherine, I've never had much gentleness for my daughters, and I don't fool myself into thinking many would praise me for my mothering skills. I am a hard woman, and I've demanded a lot from Jane, bringing down harsh punishment, at times when others would argue I had no cause. But I am the daughter of an anointed Queen, the daughter of an anointed King's brother-in-law, and I will never let any injustices be committed against any of girls by others, least of all by a spoiled, cowardly drunkard such as your son."

"My eldest daughter," she continues, "is one of the greatest minds England has, and she is on the cusp of strengthening the Reformist faith to the point of it being unshakeable. My second daughter is a beauty who will soon marry a powerful man, strengthening her older sister's cause. And my youngest daughter is a sweet, loyal girl, beloved by my husband's servants. They are worthy of being backed. I suggest you think long and hard on whether your second youngest boy is worth it, as well. If you are sensible, you will help gain the annulment and quickly find some desperate, rich spinster to wed him to. That's all he's good for."

"Now," she finishes, "shall I show you out, Duchess, or shall I tell my daughter to fetch the Master of the Horse?"

…

Once Jane Dudley is gone, Frances sits down to play a game of cards with Mary.

"Mother, did you mean what you said about Jane marrying our cousin, King Edward?"

"Of course, I did," Frances answers, briskly, dealing the cards. "I know Mrs Eleanor has been trying to find you a husband. The same reason I'm fighting to have Jane's marriage annulled is the same reason you must desist this nonsense."

"My lady-"

"Oh, I know it was all her idea. She thinks she's doing the best for you. Well, my youngest, she's not. All three of you are to be so much more than a simple wife and mother. Jane will Queen, and you and your sister are going to help build her legacy, and by extension, that of our family."

"Yes, my lady."

Looking up, Frances says, bluntly, "I'm not often fond of you and Jane, and I rarely treat either of you with much kindness. But I do promise you, Mary, that I do have your best interests at heart. So long as you are loyal to this family, I will fight for as long and as hard as I can for you."

"Then, let me help," Mary blurts out.

At her mother's look, she takes a deep breath. "M-mother, I- I know- I'm not very smart or pretty, but I'm clever. I- listen to others, and they usually don't seem to notice or care. People believe me when I speak. I can help Jane, if you give me instructions."

As she sets the cards down, Frances looks at her youngest, misshapen daughter with new eyes.

…

John Dudley looks down at the dead body.

"Yes," he tells the sheriff, emotionlessly, "that's my son."

"I'm very sorry, sir," the other man says. "Witnesses say that it was a duel. Whoever did the deed has long vanished."

This solves a number of problems for him, but some part wonders if Frances is responsible. If so, she must pay. No one will strike down any of his boys and not pay a steep penalty.

"I must go," he says, withdrawing his purse, "and tell my wife our youngest is- I must go."

"I am sorry," the sheriff repeats. After accepting the coins, he reaches over to close the eyes.

On instinct, John grabs his arm. "No." Reaching over, he carefully closes his son's eyes. "May God accept you into His Kingdom, Guildford. Rest easy, now, child; soon, your headstone will be made. In the morning, Cranmer will come and say the necessary prayers."

With that, he nods to the other man, "Sheriff."

He leaves, trying to keep the image of the dead boy from too-firmly embedding itself into his mind.


	3. Born to Die

"Hello, Edward."

Looking up from his book, Edward smiles and jumps out of his garden chair. "Barnaby!"

As the two hug, Barnarby Fitzpatrick notes, "Your majesty's court is certainly much chipper than I left it. I daresay I'm somewhat jealous, for usually, it's my arrival which causes a noticeable rise in happiness."

Grinning at his friend, Edward asks, "Would you like to see the reason for such happiness?"

"Of course, I shall."

Nodding, Edward leads Barnaby inside the castle, stopping near the great hall. Careful to keep out of sight, the two watch the ladies practising their dance moves. "There," Edward says, pointing to Jane, who is busy reading a book. "My cousin, Lady Jane Grey. The court is very pleased with her presence. As well they should be, I daresay, for she is a kind lady with a remarkable brain."

Barnaby watches as a lady offers Jane Grey a cup. He's seen her before, though never for very long; he prefers women on the rounder side, but he imagines her freckles, barely visible from where he's standing, delight Edward. Barnaby himself has freckles, and he never had a chance to develop the customary shame of them, for Edward happily attempted to document every single one of them on his body when they were younger and protested vehemently when Barnaby's father talked of using methods to try to rid his son of them.

"Is she unwed or widowed," he inquires, taking note of her black clothes, including her gable hood.

Edward tenses, slightly. "When I thought I was dying, I let myself be convinced to strong-arm her into a marriage she did not desire. Guildford Dudley. He has badly mistreated her. The marriage will be annulled on the grounds there was no true consent on her side."

"And what is the case for Lady Jane's popularity?"

Sighing, Edward answers, "I am very pleased in her presence. I often find myself smiling, and on occasion, laughing. You know how subtly demanding the court can be."

Indeed, he does.

When they were tots, Edward was easy enough to coax smiles and laughter from. As they grew, he became more quiet and introspective, and the courtiers and servants did not like that, at all.

Edward, for his part, does try, but Barnaby knows the King often finds himself annoyed with the court's expectations. He prides himself on being less of a fool (his words) than his father. In his mind, he's more reasonable, kinder, and analytical than the previous King. To him, the fact he treats the people around him with basic respect should be enough.

Reaching over, he hugs Edward, placing his chin on the other boy's neck. "I know you don't approve of my Catholicism, but when I heard you were dying, I had the priests hold mass for your return to health every day. And don't think I won't have much to say about you refusing to let me leave France whenever I'm provoked."

Returning the embrace, Edward says, with gentle affection, "I'm glad to have you back, Barnaby."

…

"Adrian!"

Startled, Adrian automatically restrains the horse before looking over.

Once he does, he rushes over. "Lady Mary," he says, withdrawing a handkerchief, "who-"

Batting his hand away she wheezes, finally managing to get out, "A duel. Father and Earl Dudley. Do something!"

Pressing the handkerchief in her hands and pushing her near the horses' water, Adrian grabs a nearby horse and strides out, looking around until his eyes catch two figures in the distance. Quickly mounting the horse, he rides over, dismounting. "Sirs," he says, firmly. "I ask you to solve this disagreement, whatever it may be, without bloodshed. Or at least," he says, a bit sharply, remembering the signs of being backhanded across the youngest Grey's face, "bloodshed on the part of yourselves."

John Dudley glares over. "You're rather close to Frances; was it you who delivered the blow to my son?"

Reaching over to restrain a cursing Henry, Adrian says, "Whichever of your sons is dead, I assure you, neither my master nor mistress had anything to do with his death."

"And I ought to take you to the courts for making such a damning accusation!" Henry glares. "You may have the King's ear, but soon enough, my daughter will have his bed!"

"Now that Guildford is dead, I have no doubt that whore will soon accomplish such a goal," John hisses.

Fighting against Adrian, Henry snaps, "Aside from your boy's grave injustice towards her on the marriage bed, my daughter is properly virginal!"

"Sirs," Adrian grits out, "may I remind you both that your goal for strengthening Lutheranism and Protestantism is still the same? My lord, if either my master or mistress is responsible for your son's death, why is the sheriff not with you? King Edward doesn't approve of vigilantism. Your grace, engaging a grieving father in such a way might harm Lady Jane's chances with the King."

"Grieving father? John Dudley is only expressing his irritation at having to buy a headstone and deal with his desolate wife," Henry declares, backing down. "Frances cares more for our girls than he does any of his living children."

Before the Duke of Northumberland can react, Frances's voice is heard, followed shortly by the woman herself.

…

"Here, sweet darling," Adrian says, gently washing Mary's face.

"Poor Jane," she mutters, remembering what Frances subjected her older sister to. "I hope Kat doesn't come soon."

"I don't think this will happen again," he offers, handing her a square of sugar, which causes a nearby horse to snort in annoyance. "That wasn't punishment, and as for your mother, Lady Frances- really wanted a boy for her firstborn. Not that that excuses it, but if she'd had a boy first, she might not have done such things to Lady Jane."

"You sound as if you think it okay for this to happen to a boy."

He shrugs. "It's not right to lay a hand against a female, but sometimes, boys need such measures. I imagine it might be hard for a brotherless child like you to understand."

Mary picks up some hay and extends her hand. As one of the horses eats from it, she asks, "Mister Stokes, do you really believe it was a duel that killed my brother-in-law?"

For a long moment, Adrian doesn't answer. Finally, he says, "I think you need not worry about it. Whether he duelled or was slain, he wasn't a good man, and with him gone, Lady Jane has a chance of being happy."

Frances appears, looking grim. "Mary, go help the servants pack. Adrian, ready the carriages. You're escorting my daughter and I to court; my fool of a husband can make his own way!"

…

"Russian, Lady Jane? Even Edward hasn't sought to learn that, yet."

Jane nods as they walk the gardens, a few ladies following at a discreet distance, unsure how to act around Barnaby. "I'm sure his majesty will do wonderfully when the time comes for him to start his studies in the language."

"Yes," Barnaby comments, "I'm sure Edward will. Tell me, Lady Jane: how are you finding your stay at court?"

"Very well, sir. It's always a pleasure to be in the King's presence, and everyone is very kind and attentive."

"You give them hope."

She briefly falters. "Hope, sir?"

"There's been fear our King is more desiring of intimate male bedmates," Barnaby explains, bluntly. "Certainly, that isn't the worst of sins, and it would assuage the fears of bastard children being produced. However, it also brings the fear there might not be legitimate children produced, either."

Stopping, Jane inquires, "Does the King know of these rumours?"

"I imagine so," Barnaby answers, looking at her closely. "Edward's a quiet, isolated soul. Whenever you appear, however, he shares himself with you. It's been said by some, my lady, that he was born to die."

Crossing herself, Jane angrily snaps, "To say so is treason! If you-"

"Feel free to tell him," Barnaby interrupts. "He's said it himself. I'm sorry if I've made myself unfriendly within your eyes, Lady Jane, but know I don't consider you an enemy. Taking away his Kinghood, Edward is my brother. I don't know your true feelings toward him, but I have an idea of his towards you. I'm not one for pretending, and I don't think you are, either. However, if I'm wrong, I ask you to quickly and quietly leave court once you get your annulment. Compared to you, I'm a peasant, but I'll never willingly stand by while my master's heart is toyed with."

Seeing Eleanor is becoming uneasy, Jane holds her hand out to stop her nurse from coming over. Taking a deep breath, she says, calmly, "Mister Fitzpatrick, Edward is my dearest friend; I would never intentionally deceive him on anything, nor would I attempt to manipulate him. My mother sent me to court, and though I admit to having no objections, it was his majesty who sought to have my marriage annulled. I am here at his pleasure, and I will leave at his pleasure. As it would be with any woman, there could be no greater honour than to accept his hand in marriage, but I do not seek such a match."

Nodding, Barnaby bows. "Then, I hope I haven't spoiled your stay, my lady. I'm at your service."

…

"Most importantly," Edward says in annoyance, looking at the four people in his chambers, "why weren't Jane and I told immediately? And secondly, where is your youngest daughter, Lord Grey? With her condition and age, both her siblings elsewhere, surely, even with servants, you didn't leave her at one of your houses?"

"No, Majesty," Henry answers. "Mary is here, being attended to by the household staff we brought with us."

"As for the other," Cranmer says, "in his grief, the Duke of Northumberland failed to mention it was Guildford. As I told you, I was required to help lay to rest a member of the Dudley household. I had honestly thought it to be a cousin or grandchild."

Before John can speak, Edward sighs. "Of course; there are no need for apologies, John. For all my ill feelings towards your second youngest son, I am deeply sorry for you. Be sure to tell me if there's anything I can do to help you in your grief."

"Thank you, sire," John says, bowing deeply.

"As for the rest," Edward continues, "I'll have chambers set up for you and your daughter, my lord and lady. I don't want Jane disturbed at this hour. In the morning, you may see her, and the news of Guildford's death can be broken."

"If I may," Cranmer says, "I believe my presence might be helpful."

"Yes," Edward agrees before calling for a servant.


	4. Grief and Love Unbound By Sense

"What happened to your face, Mary," Jane asks in concern.

A feeling of guilt and horror sleeps through her.

Despite Mary's weight and crooked body, she's never been clumsy; in fact, everyone talked about her incredible balance when she was a baby learning to walk on her own. Someone inflicted the damage, and the only candidates are one of their parents.

Jane's always gladly left her parents' house in the past, only protesting when she was sent to Dudley's, but she never worried for her sisters when she did. Occasionally, Kat did something naughty and was punished for it, but from Jane saw, their mother was never excessive with her as she was with Jane. Mary was always firmly ignored by both parents, and Eleanor is a very patient woman; her first approach had always been firm discussions, and she wouldn't have done more than lightly smack the bottom or deny supper if confronted with continuing bad behaviour.

What if she was wrong, though? What if her sisters had suffered as she had when she left?

"All's well," Mary assures her. "Father was having a disagreement, and I got in the way."

"A disagreement? With whom, Mary?"

"Ah," Mary says. "They'll be here shortly; it's best if they tell you. May I have some of your fruit, sister?"

"Of course," Jane says, motioning for her to help herself to the fruit bowl. "Why are Mother and Father here? Has it to do with my annulment?"

"I'm not sure- I mean, I don't understand how annulments work," Mary answers, licking some juice from her hand. "But I imagine that's not possible anymore."

"Not possible," Jane repeats, feeling weak.

Alarmed, Mary quickly swallows. "I think you'll still be happy! I mean, I'm sure you'd never be unchristian, but you're still free! I- wasn't supposed to say anything. Oh, Mother is going to be furious, and we'd been getting along so much better lately, too."

There's a knock at the door, causing Mary to exclaim, "Oh, blessed are the saints," as she practically flies to open it.

…

"A duel," Jane repeats, clutching Edward's hand. "I suppose I am a widow, then."

She knows she should offer her sympathies to John Dudley, perhaps think of something kind to say about Guildford. In truth, though she's ashamed and bewildered by such feelings, she finds herself angry.

Her parents forced her into this marriage. John Dudley and his wife raised a brute of a boy who raped and insulted her. And now, she is a widow despite never feeling she was truly a wife. An annulment says she was never married; widowhood says otherwise.

What of Guildford? That horrible boy was a human, and she'll admit to having unkind wishes towards him, but she never wished his death. Did she?

He was only nineteen, only three years older than she. He loved pork, she remembers.

"I must pray," she says, distantly. "I apologise for my rudeness, but I must talk to God."

She's sure her mother has a harsh response; her father might, too. No doubt Mary is upset, perhaps frightened. Archbishop Cranmer, no doubt, has comforting words.

However, all she's aware of her knees against the floor and Edward's gentle hand. "I'll talk to you, later, Lady Jane," he says, softly. She's aware of him clasping her hands together, and then, she's all alone in her chambers.

Bowing her head, beseeches, "Oh, God, what do I do? What shall I do?"

…

"Will she be well?"

Frances nods, twitching in irritation at Jane's behaviour. "Of course, Henry. If I thought she had any true cunning to her, I'd be rather proud. As it is, that was just her silly, soft nature."

Hesitating, Henry says, quietly, "I want our daughter to be Queen as much as you do. But should we? That brat's death saved us from having our names smeared. She has more pity for him than she does us, Frances, I can see it in her eyes. If she's wedded to Edward-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Henry," she snaps. "We have Kat and Mary as leverage. She's a silly girl, but her intellect is well-known. A move against us is a strike us against them. And though she's never verbalised it, this marriage is what she's wanted since she was a little girl. I see my father and uncle when I observe her and Edward."

"Do you know how much you dishonour your father by such talk," he snaps.

"I speak the truth about him," she answers, mildly. "The only difference between her and him is that her King returns the never-ending devotion."

…

"A decision needs to be made, quickly," Edward says, looking down at the papers spread across the table. "The people are getting even more restless for an heir."

"Which does your majesty prefer," Cranmer inquires. "We can begin negotiations immediately."

"Whichever is the most valuable for the Reformation, naturally," Edward answers. "That's why the decision is being brought before the council. I am but one man and cannot make the best possible decision on my own."

One of the men begins to speak, but Cranmer quickly says, "Your majesty, all of these women are beautiful, devout Reformists of royal blood. Any of them would be happily accepted by the English people. All you need to worry about is picking the one you believe you will like the most."

"Which has the highest dowry?"

"That would be the Infanta Sofia of Aragon."

"While that is true, sire," Cranmer says, "all of them offer-"

"Your grace, I have a country to run. The Reformation needs my attention. Aside from my heirs, hopefully some of which will be boys, I have neither the time nor inclination for a wife. If any of them can offer something greater than the infanta's dowry, tell me. If not, she is to be my wife, provided negotiations proceed smoothly."

Tentatively, glancing at Cranmer, a councillor suggests, "Perhaps, an English rose would be better? Now that Lady Jane is widowed-"

"No," Edward immediately answers. "Lady Jane is as close as a sister to me," he says, ignoring the looks the others exchange. "Is there further business?"

After a round of negatives, Edward stands. "Then, I dismiss this meeting. I must attend to my cousin."

…

"Your actions were interesting during the meeting, Archbishop," John Dudley comments as he walks with Cranmer.

"A peace offering, of sorts," Cranmer answers, quietly. "Naturally, I should consider it a blessing if our King were to marry your daughter-in-law, but the dear child is now free. I was willing to fight Stephen for her freedom, but now that she has that, I've spent the last few nights soberly reflecting. Whether they wed or not, she will always have his ear, and she will do much for the Reformation. Time grows short, and I've lost many friends from my youth. I should like to spend what is left with one of the few who is still around."

He sighs. "King Henry, God bless his soul, was so in love with love. King Edward is determined to live without in the belief it will make him a better man. Well, my lord, it may, but it'll also make him a significantly less happy one. I've watched him grow, you know. Because of me, his oldest sister, once so sweet and content, is full of bitter anger and misguided fury; his second sister, I fear holds no true love for either sibling, only a thirst for power. If I could help but one of them- He has the most potential to be helped."

…

"I'm to be married soon."

"I heard," Jane answers, quietly, as they walk the gardens, being mindful to stay within sight of the guards surrounding the area. "To the Infanta Sofia, I believe?"

"Yes. She's converted, and she'll bring with her a large dowry."

"Many of the ladies of court are disappointed," she answers. "They'd hoped you'd take an English bride."

"They may be disappointed, but I imagine people ignorant of court politics will be able to sleep easier knowing no innocent woman will be short a head," Edward comments, wryly.

Covering her mouth, Jane makes a muffled sound before declaring, "Edward!"

"You know as well as I do it's true, Cousin Jane," he replies, unapologetic. "I never understood why my father didn't discreetly poison Catalina of Aragon, and then, after a suitable amount of time, remarry. Certainly, it would have been better for the country. I suppose," he muses, "he still had some residual love."

"You aren't your father," she replies, simply.

"Really, even a foreign Queen can be killed unjustly; it's certainly harder to do, however, and that gives the kingdom a sense of peace," he says, ignoring that remark. "That's why I shan't marry an Englishwoman. Most especially not an English rose."

"I wish you happiness and sons," Jane says, sitting down on a bench. "I also pray she will be a pleasing companion to your majesty."

"Will you stay at court, Lady Jane, as one of the infanta's ladies?"

"Sir- I'd be honoured; though, who's to say she'll want me?"

"If she doesn't, something more suitable can be worked out," Edward answers. "However, I think she will find great value in your guidance. As you've been a true friend to me, I ask you offer such friendship to my bride."

"Of course," she answers.

"If you'd like your youngest sister to remain at court with you and tend to your needs, that is acceptable."

"Thank you, Edward," she says, giving him a relieved smile.

Nodding, he clasps her hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing it. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Jane, I must go make sure Barnaby hasn't challenged Sir Rodrick to a duel for Lady Nessie's hand."

"He really must stop doing that," Jane notes.

"He really must stop doing so at court," Edward corrects, standing up and motioning for her to stay seated. "I am glad you are feeling better, Jane."

Nodding, she looks down, gently rubbing the spot on her hand that was kissed. "Thank you."

…

That night, as Frances and Jane walk, the former says, "The King has all but ordered your father and I to depart. There's no point in expressing my displeasure with you, for you already know it well, yet are still determined to do as you will."

"I must do as my conscience dictates, my lady."

Frances snorts. "Oh, the righteousness of youth," she declares, almost sadly. "You hold so much power in your hands, so much more than you even realise, and due to your conscience, all you will do with it is rid yourself of your father and I. Such power will quickly fade, daughter, if not solidified. Well, when you are a lonely spinster with nothing but your numerous books to keep you company, I hope your conscience is enough to soothe you. And I say that sincerely."

Jane is quiet.

Stopping, Frances curtsies in front of a painting, at first bewildering Jane, but once she sees it's of her grandfather, Charles Brandon, she curtsies, too. "Perhaps," she says, gently, "Edward would consent to release this portrait into your hands, Mother."

"Oh, no," Frances says, making the sign of the cross before resuming her walk. "King Henry offered it to me after your grandfather's death, and shortly after King Edward became King, he did as well. My lord father would be furious if I accepted; he wouldn't be able to properly watch over his majesty's favourite palace and the visiting heirs that inhabit it."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," Frances answers. "You only met him three times; do you remember him?"

"No, my lady. I remember his funeral when I was nine, and I remember the silver cross his widow gave Kat for one of her birthdays."

"There's so much of him in you," Frances says, giving her a small smile.

Jane finds herself unable to respond. From what she's heard, the Duke of Suffolk was a bit of a hedonist who produced several bastard children. He despised Anne Boleyn, but he happily, unthinkingly, converted to the Reformist religion when King Henry ordered it of his subjects. He had no care for the education he could have received as a member of the King's household. Some called him a fool, and she supposes that could be what her mother is referring to, but surely, that wouldn't be enough to compare the beloved father to the despised daughter.

"He had many faults," Frances continues. "And he'd be the first to acknowledge them. But he was a brave man, and his greatest virtue was a undying loyalty to King Henry. In his time, he was referred to as the King's truest friend, the subject who most loved him. You know, he died with no discernible cause. Everyone chalked it up to his age and God's will."

"You disagree, Mother?"

"I do more than disagree; I know better. A week before he died, King Henry was unconscious for three days. It was kept quiet, of course, but your grandfather knew. He knew, and knowing that death might visit his dearest friend at any moment, he decided he could not see King Henry die. He could not live without his childhood friend. I'm not suggesting he willingly took his own life, mind you; despite his failures as a Christian, there are some lines even he wouldn't cross. But there have been cases of physically healthy people dying of grief, and such as that happened. His mind, his heart, was so afraid of his master's death that his body was forced to shut down."

"But Mother, King Henry lived two years after-"

"Dear child, when has love and grief ever made any sense," Frances inquires, a touch exasperated. "Your grandfather was no seer; he spent three days on his knees, barely sleeping and only accepting the sips of wine his servants could force into him. Physically, he recovered easily enough, but I imagine such an event would only exacerbate one's fears, especially since King Henry was anything but a picture of health when it happened."

They arrive at Jane's quarters. "Sleep well, daughter, and protect your sister from any scandal. Honour your family name, and visit your grandfather's portrait every now and again."

"God go with you and my lord father," Jane answers, curtseying.


	5. Light a Candle

"I should have a baby by now!"

"I'll talk to Edward," Jane promises, desperately hoping her sister's voice doesn't carry outside of the chamber. Kat had been dragged kicking and screaming back to their parents' house and had been so obstinate, she'd earned a whipping. God be praised, Adrian Stokes had convinced them to send her to court for the time being. "He'll find you a good husband, Kat. There are plenty of other men than Henry Herbert."

"I want Henry," Kat snaps. "He loves me, and I love him!" Taking a deep breath, she calms, and then, falls to her knees, taking Jane's hand. "Jane, you must promise me that once you are Queen, you will-"

"Queen- Katherine, no," Jane says, physically pulling her sister up. "No. Edward is to marry the Infanta Sofia of Aragon. I'm not his mistress, I'm not his intended, and you must not imply to either when talking to others. I will talk to him, for you. You can't have Henry, Kat, and you need to accept that."

The words feel bitter in her mouth, memories of all the times she was told she must accept things warring for dominance in her head. It's true, though, and it's for the best her sister make peace and move on. Already, there are rumours of Herbert's betrothal to another woman.

Making a noise of frustration, Kat sits down.

"Kat," Jane says, gently, approaching her.

Her sister's suddenly piercing gaze stops her. "Would you refuse?"

"Refuse?"

"If he wanted you as his mistress, would you refuse?"

"I wouldn't have a choice," Jane answers, suddenly uncomfortable with where this is going. "Katherine, please. I want you to be happy, but I will not be a literal whore in order to make it so. You're still young enough to find a suitable husband and have children. Edward will help you, and soon enough, you'll forget all about Henry."

"Oh, he's already forgotten," Kat declares, leaving Jane gaping. "Would you object?"

"Katherine-"

"You know I've never broken a confidence, Jane. Tell me, do you desire our cousin as a woman desires a man?"

She feels her blush rising and curses her pale skin. "That- Kat, you are still a maid, and-" Her sister's look is enough to stop her. In truth, maid or not, Kat has always instinctively embraced such things on a level Jane doesn't.

When she was beaten and Edward visited, he held her close, and at one point, her head laid in his lap. At the time, she'd been too hurt, both physically and emotionally, to feel anything but love towards him and platonic comfort at his touch. Later, however, the memory had a much different effect on her.

Guildford had harshly pushed himself inside of her, ignoring her pleas for him to slow down and be gentle. He'd grabbed her wrists, covering her mouth when she demanded he stop and tried to push him away. As a defence, she'd found herself thinking of Edward, and how, if where her husband, he'd enter gently and give her time to adjust to the pain.

It isn't something she's proud of, but it is the truth.

"You should offer yourself," Kat says, quietly. "Not for me or our family, but for yourself. If you had a child by him, it would prove he was able. And- you're never happy, Jane. I thought once you were free of Mother and Father you would be, but even now, you're not, not really. If his attentions could give you some sort of-"

"Katherine!"

Taking a deep breath, Jane says, firmly, "Kat, I'm touched; know that I speak that truly. But do you think I want a bastard child? Some people simply aren't meant to know the happiness you're capable of. I am content with the friendship I share with Edward."

…

Edward looks down at the tapestry in horror.

"Your majesty is displeased," Cranmer inquires, watching him closely.

"No," Edward answers. "It's a masterful piece."

His fingers go to the note.

"Sire, perhaps, it isn't my place-"

"The Spanish princess has never met me, we've never directly exchanged letters, and yet, her response to our engagement is to weave a scene from my favourite Biblical story," Edward says. He sighs. "I've done nothing for her."

"There's no requirement-"

"Archbishop, she's more dedicated to this marriage than I. Even political marriages, are they not supposed to be about doing one's duty towards their spouse? If she were to die, I would mourn the loss of Aragon's second youngest Infanta, and I would mourn the loss of a human life. I would mourn the loss of such a talented weaver. I- don't know anything about her to truly mourn the loss of _her_. Since my betrothal was decided, I've not spared a thought towards making sure she is comfortable and feels saved and loved upon her arrival. Undoubtedly, the servants and courtiers will try to do so, but it's my duty as her future husband to plan such things, to worry about them."

"Is your majesty having second thoughts about the marriage," Cranmer inquires, gently. "If you are, it's not too late to pick a different woman."

Shaking his head, Edward sits down. "It's imperative I quickly wed, and by God's grace, conceive of an heir. But what do I know of being a husband? How do I avoid becoming as my father was? Catalina of Aragon gave him Mary and was above reproach as a Queen; even when he was attempting to dissolve their marriage, she still made him shirts and tried to ensure his every comfort until he firmly banished her. I don't know if it's true or not, but I heard my birth was quickened by my father backhanding Queen Jane Seymour. If not for Elizabeth's hair and temper, people might believe the slanderous charge of Anne Boleyn committing adultery. Poor George Boleyn was killed for loving his sister as a brother should. Anne of Cleves is the only remaining wife, and I know of the insults hurled at her during their short marriage. I remember Katherine Howard. I used to call her Kitty-Kat, and in response, she'd crawl around on her knees, nudging my hand with her head; she put on puppet shows for me and tried to interest me in wooden animals. She _was_ guilty, but not enough to warrant death, I believe. Catherine Parr was never happy with my father, a fact I saw with my own eyes."

Cautiously, Cranmer takes his hand. "You aren't King Henry, Edward. Your father- he wasn't intended to be King. But God took Prince Arthur. He spared you. Set aside your worries and place yourself in His hands. He'll never lead you astray. And if may, contemplate carefully on your betrothal. Unlike your father, who felt bound to marry Princess Catherine and fought hard to do so, you have the luxury of choosing a bride who will not only benefit the country but who will hopefully make you a happy husband and man and you make her a happy wife and woman."

"I'm not sure that is possible," Edward says, hopelessly.

…

Later, Jane finds him in the gardens. "Hello, Lady Jane."

Curtseying, she asks, worriedly, "Are feeling well, your majesty?"

"Yes," he assures her as the men walking with him fall discreetly behind them. Looking at the books she's carrying, he inquires, "How go the Russian lessons, cousin?"

"I'm quite enjoying them," she answers, unable to keep some of the excitement out of her voice. "And my tutors say I'm picking up the language faster than most of their other charges. Is there anything I can do to help you? Forgive me for saying so, but you look unwell."

"Everything is fine," he assures her, smiling slightly. "I'm merely having some trouble adjusting to the idea of my upcoming marriage. But I promise you, Jane, everything will be better, soon. How are your sisters adjusting to court life?"

"Very well," she responds. "Mary is proving quite popular with the servants. Katherine is still somewhat ill in spirit, but I believe the ball tomorrow will greatly cheer her up."

"I heard Mister Stokes left this morning. Is everything well with your parents?"

"I hope so," Jane answers, worriedly. "He assured me he didn't truly believe anything was wrong, but he hasn't received any letters from my mother in the past few days. With my father visiting an old friend, Mister Stokes asked permission to ascertain everything was as it should be at home."

"If there's anything I can do to help, you must let me know," he says, reaching over to take her hand.

"Yes," she answers, softly. "The same is true of you. I thank God you recovered from your illness, but I cannot help but fear for you."

"All better, now," he insists, firmly. Then, hesitating, he says, "If this discomforts you, please, simply tell me. Though it was anything but pleasant, you have shared your bed with another. I- haven't, and though I know what such a thing entails, I find myself- uneasy at the thought of the marriage bed."

Her cheeks turning bright red, Jane clears her throat. "My mother claimed it didn't hurt her the first time, but from everyone else I've heard talk of such things, it's always somewhat painful the first time for the wife. The infanta is lucky to receive such a husband as you, Edward. Just try to be slow and gentle, as well as patient. I've been told that after the couple discovers how best to treat one another's bodies, it can be very pleasant for both. As with everything, the act requires honing."

Before he can respond, a tiny child bursts through a hedge. Seeing them, he squeaks and, rather than bowing, curtsies.

"All's well," Jane says, softly, kneeling down. "What are you running from, child?"

Reaching over, he tugs on her sleeve, pulling her closer and whispering to her.

"Ah," she says, her voice neutral as she picks him up. "Well, you must tell the King, at once. Fear not, for King Edward is a kind man."

Covering his face with his hands, the little boy says, almost too-quiet to hear, "My sister is sick, King Edward, and Mama always says that God listens to priests more than anyone. And I thought an archbishop might be listened to more. Only, he told me that prayers required money. I-I thought, maybe, my, the wooden horse my papa made for me and Bessie would be enough; he worked so hard on it, and it can hold two of us at once. I took it to him, and he broke it and was going to break me to! I didn't mean to run, but-"

"It's alright," Edward says, softly. "Do you know this archbishop's name?"

"No, King Edward."

Nodding, Edward says to Jane, "Lady Jane, why don't you take this child to your youngest sister? Perhaps, she can teach him to play cards." To the boy, he says, "Lady Mary is funnily-shaped but a good Christian, and you must be kind to her. If you'll both excuse me." He nods to Jane, and then, quickly strides over to where the guards are standing.

"Come along," Jane says, softly, positioning the child so that he can't see Edward's angry body language. She begins walking. "My name is Jane Grey. What's yours?"

…

"You know I would never condone such disgraceful actions, Archbishop," Gardiner says, softly.

"You appointed him," Cranmer snaps, pacing the cell. "I know you take your appointments very seriously, and it's been discovered this scoundrel has had numerous complaints lodged against him."

"How did you, a budding Reformist, get appointed by staunchly Catholic men," Gardiner replies, pointedly. "I admit I ignored most of the complaints; anti-Catholicism is sweeping the court these days."

"I can't imagine why."

"What was done was a great disservice to both God and the church," Gardiner says, firmly. "Whether you blame me or not, we do both agree on that."

Sitting down, Cranmer sighs. "You talk of anti-Catholic sentiment. His mother told that innocent child that metal shaped by humans could buy God's grace. I don't blame her. Like any good mother, she was only trying to teach her children what she thought to be right. Because Reformists are no longer being burnt, because they are demanding an end to the massive abuses of the pope and his church, you claim oppression. Do you know, Archbishop Gardiner, that almost every night, I sit in front of Secretary Cromwell's portrait and talk to him? At Cambridge, I was very shy, and he came up one day and talked to me, put me at ease. He helped me bring my wife into this country. He was my dearest friend, and he died due to Catholics poisoning King Henry against him. I did very little to help him, a fact I must live with every day. Do you think I would feel the same guilt if you were to perish?"

"I would hope you would light a candle for me," Gardiner answers, quietly. "Despite his disdain for Catholicism, you and Cromwell often talked of religious tolerance. He spoke of even Muslims, Jews, and atheists rather neutrally. What happened to that?"

"Catholics proved themselves rather unreceptive to the idea. Does Thomas More and his burnings of people for possessing books ring a bell?"

"Well, regardless," Gardiner says, with a sigh. "We both know it was a Reformist who was the ultimate downfall in the Master Secretary. The same Reformist whose granddaughter you are so determined to champion. The Duke of Suffix could withstand many insults, but anyone who threatened his place near the King was never to be forgiven. Your friend made the dangerous mistake of encouraging Mistress Nan to have the duke banned when he voiced his concerns about King Henry's pursuit of her. When Cromwell was at his weakest, Brandon said the words to tip the King in the direction of your friend's demise. Now is the time to atone for your past mistakes, Thomas. You must do as your conscience dictates. If you agree with what King Edward has planned for me, all I ask is that you light a candle for me."

…

Giggling, Kat accepts Edward's hand and follows him onto the floor.

"How are you and your sisters finding your stay at court, Lady Katherine," he inquires as they dance.

"It's wonderful, your majesty," she answers, happily. "It's rare to see Jane smile so much, and Mary is beginning not to flinch when a stranger approaches her."

Visibly nonplussed by that statement, Edward simply replies, "I'm happy to hear so. Lady Jane has everything she needs and desires, then? She's plenty comfortable?"

"Yes, sire," Katherine assures him. "Though, to be honest, I'm somewhat worried for her."

"Worried? Why so?"

"Well," she says, carefully, "I know Jane's marriage to Dudley wasn't a good one, but her lack of interest in finding another doesn't seem right. She's such a pretty girl, I'm sure if she dressed more fashionably and talked of things besides languages and religion, she'd have many men interested in her. It's best women have babies while they're still young, and she's already approaching seventeen!"

"Some people aren't meant for marriage, my lady," Edward answers. "But your sister herself is untroubled by her lack of suitors?"

"That's why I worry," Katherine answers. "You're the only one she ever talks about. I remember when we younger, she was always so happy to hear about you. I hope I don't overstep myself when I say that Jane seems to think of you in deeper terms than that of her King."

"I'm proud to be considered one of your sister's closest friends, my lady," Edward says as the dance ends.

"If only someone like you would come around," Katherine says as he escorts her to her seat, "I would worry less. I think perhaps the right man would make her be meant for marriage. Thank you for the dance, your highness!"

As Edward is walking away, another man quickly asks for Katherine's hand.

Across the room, Jane frowns as she sips her drink. "How do I discreetly ask what my sister and the King talked of," she inquires of Eleanor.

"Oh, ye need not worry," the nurse assures her. "Your sister complained of your manner of dress, your devotion to your studies, and expressed her worry of you not being interested in marriage. The King, from the looks of it, paid little heed to her complaints. With his wedding day fast approaching, he can't simply confine all his dances to you; right or wrong, the court will talk, and the talk will soon come to his new bride. Look, sweet child, he and Lady Nessie are taking the floor."

"And you're sure that's all that was talked of?"

"Child, I have experience in discerning conversations from a distance; how do thou think I always knew when Kat and Mary were planning mischief? Aside from that, however, what do you imagine your sister would talk to him about? A beauty, she is; a scholar, she's not. And she may not have kind thoughts toward your lady mother and lord father at the moment, but she's always been a loyal lass to you and Mary."

Nodding, Jane looks down, only to be startled by the doors to the Great Hall being flung opened.

Everyone quiets as Edward approaches a messager who's flanked by guards. "Majesty," he says, bowing, his deep, heavy voice carrying. "I bring news of a plague hitting the country. Adrian Stokes, Master Groom to the Grey family, has found out Lady Frances Grey is suffering from it. He bid me to ride as fast as I could and deliver the news directly to you."

…

Lighting a candle, Cranmer, on his knees, looks up at the crucifix, a gift from Stephen, nailed to the wall.

…

In her chambers, Jane looks at the sleeping women on her bed. Mary had tried to leave the castle, insistent on returning home. It'd taken all of them restraining her and Edward's firm commands to prevent her from going head-long into danger; she'd sobbed and sobbed, until finally, they'd coaxed her into sleep. Katherine took the news better, but, even now, she's kicking at the covers. Jane imagines Eleanor is more worried about Kat and Mary than she is about their mother, which Jane can't blame her for.

Crossing herself, Jane blows out her candle and, uncaring of the fact she's in her nightdress, slips out of the chamber.

Eventually, she finds herself in front of her grandfather's portrait. Sinking to her knees, she brings her forehead down to the floor before looking up at him. "Please," she begs, brokenly, "help us. Please, Grandfather, I've never asked anything of you. I know people can talk to God themselves, but I beseech you to intercede on your daughter's behalf. Please, help us."


	6. Knowing and Running

_"Who is he," she inquires, looking at the boy with deep sunken eyes. "And what's wrong with his eyes?" _

_"He knows his future," is the cryptic response. "Watch, love."_

…

"This is the third council meeting the Duke of Northumberland has missed," Lord Thomason notes.

Annoyed, Edward looks up. "In barely a month, John has had to deal with the fact evil tainted his second youngest son, as well as having to bury said child. Frances Grey is dying, and without insinuating anything about their relationship, they've been close for many years. He may miss as many meetings as he needs to, and everyone is to continue to treat him with the respect his position owes him."

"How is the Lady Jane?"

"Lady Jane is a strong woman," Cranmer replies, quietly, startling the others as he speaks up. "Tragedy, it seems, is bound to befall her. However, every time it does, she comes out wiser and sturdier in her faith and personhood than before."

"Yes, that is true," Edward agrees with a sigh.

…

The Jewish healer looks at him with penetrating eyes. "What's protecting thee?"

"My mother contracted the plague when I was still in the womb," Adrian answers. "I was born with it. Somehow, I survived; when I was ten, it my father's household, again. It left me untouched."

Nodding, she looks down at the thrashing Frances. "I must do as my conscience dictates," she informs him, voice heavy. "With good reason, it doesn't mean much to my people, but if thee give me thy word as a Christian- This medicine, it might well kill her faster than she'd die. It's her best chance for survival, but it's not much of one. I do not administer to bring about her death; my purpose is the hope it will help."

"You have it," he replies. "If you wish my oath with my hand on her Bible, I'll do so. I know she's likely to die, and I can only blame the sea merchants and soldiers who refuse to kill any rats on sight. But if there's any chance, I owe it to her and her daughters to have it done. Please. If she dies, I won't seek action against you, as the God of Abraham is my witness."

"Put on thy leather gloves, then, and restrain her," the healer orders, opening her kit.

Muttering in a language Adrian can't decipher, she places a cloth of white linen over a bottle of old ale. Once it's damp, she rubs it on the inside crease of Frances's arm. Next, she retrieves a sharp needle, and looking carefully, she pokes the crease in several places. Then, she pours a vial over the spots, pressing the liquid in with a different piece of linen. "Now," she says, unwrapping a brown-grey tablet, "this must be forced down her throat."

After it's done, the strong smell of Frances soiling herself fills the room. "Here," the healer says, "turn away, and I'll attend to her before leaving."

"Thank you," Adrian says, offering her a purse.

She waves it away. "I told thee, I only accept payment if I can guarantee a person's health."

Turning around, Adrian asks, "How often can you do so?"

"Even compared to most non-hidden Jews in this Kingdom, I'm very poor," she answers.

"Your reputation is that of a talented healer; many of your patients survive what others thought they wouldn't."

"They survived what I thought they might not," she answers. "When it comes to such things, talent is only the mysteries of nature working in their favour. Medicine and the healing arts are powerful, but there's so much knowledge regarding them yet to be discovered. Until it can be, all I can do is what I know and hope that higher than man does the rest."

"Done," she announces.

Turning, he says, "I do thank you."

…

_"That's Queen Catalina." _

_"Yes." _

_"Why's she running towards the black forest, Father?" _

_"This is but a memory; when it happened, the answer was that she knew her future." _

_"If the black forest is her future, why doesn't she choose a different path?" _

_"Some people don't." _

…

"Halt! Who's present?"

Annoyed, Mary snaps, "Mary Grey, sister of Lady Jane Grey Dudley, who the King looks very highly upon." Leading the horse out, she continues, "Whoever you are, let me assure you, I outrank you, at least unofficially."

She pauses at the sight of a giant man.

"No doubt you do, Madam," the giant answers, politely. "But that horse is one of the King's personal favourites."

Exasperated, Mary hands the reigns to him. "To hell with it," she mutters. "I'll flag a carriage down!"

It isn't long before he's right beside her. "Lady Mary, I know of you. You often play cards with the servants and have given them several pieces of embroidery. I've heard of your mother. You have my condolences."

"Thank you," she mutters. His condolences do her no good. What she needs is a way to get home, to be with her mother.

"My lady, it is perilous, entering a plague-ridden house."

"Just because I am deformed, do not presume I'm stupid," she responds, snapping her fingers to ward off some nearby bounding dogs. "I can barely read or write, and religion is often more complicated than I think it should be. But I know no one should die without family present, and I know that my life isn't a great loss. Jane and Kat will be sad. So will my nurse. No one else will be effected in anyway."

"What of the servants?"

"They'll find other amusements," she answers, sighing when she comes across a large, closed gate. "Now, either pick me up and place me on the other side or stand back. I've never climbed a tree before, but I'll find my way over this gate."

That is, she mentally adds, if no one discovers me before I can.

…

"Where's Mary?"

Kat rubs her eyes and stands to hug Jane. "She said she was going to the stables. Hopefully, the horses will comfort her."

As they walk, Jane says, "I've been giving her much thought, and though Father will object, I feel we should keep Eleanor in the Grey family's employ. Mary might be old enough to take care of herself, but with my plans to become a full-member of court and your plans to marry, she needs someone to ensure she isn't lonely. Our lord father is perhaps not the best person."

"I agree," Kat answers. "He might fight us, but for Mary's sake, we need to stand strong against him. I wonder why he's never liked Mrs Eleanor?"

"It's likely best we not go down that road. I fear for him, Kat. Without Mother, he's not a very cunning man, but he's gotten himself into several intricate webs."

For a long moment, Kat's silent. Then, she says, "Cold though it may sound, I won't be bothering with him, and I suggest the same of you. Being bound to the Dudleys, me being denied Henry, all the unkindness Mother showed you. Mary's shape wouldn't keep her from having true friends if they'd made an effort to find decent Christians who could have seen past that. As it is, I imagine she's too shy to ever give anyone a chance to form a bond with her."

"I wouldn't say cold," Jane says, squeezing her sister's hand. "Though, it's a marked change from the Kat I knew."

"The Kat you knew never stood for you, and for that, I apologise. The truth is, when I thought Henry and I were to be together until death parted us, when I thought we were to have children together, I discovered what sort of person I want to be. I'd give anything for Mother to survive this, but the truth is, she and Father failed us all. And all my life, I've been afraid of being a bad daughter, of having people not like me. I must always try to be a good Christian, but my happiness is important, too. So is yours and Mary's, Jane."

"I'm happy for you," Jane says, sincerely. "I hope a good match is found for you, soon."

…

_"They're fools," she announces, watching as people run towards the redheaded boy in the black forest._

_"Some of them, yes," he answers. "God doesn't want people to mistreat one another. Some of them, though, they learned their lessons the hard way." _

_Looking at a brown-haired boy, arm slung around the redhead's shoulder, she replies, "Happy with pain. Whose daughter am I?"_

_"You're mine," Charles Brandon answers, proudly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "In some places, there's no sun for months on end. For some people, the sun will kill them if they're exposed. I've felt my share of the sun's harshness, daughter, but in the end, I'd rather be badly burned over and over than live without it." _

_"Does that override your common blood and make you noble?" _

_"No one would ever refer to me as nobility with a serious face," he answers. "No, you're right to call me a fool. Most of the others, too. But have you not noticed, how the fools seem to truly live?" _

_"They live until they die, much too young. They only think they've experienced life. They don't often die happy." _

_"I did." _

_Sighing, she turns away from the forest. "I've done nothing incredibly foolish."_

_Kneeling, he looks the small child in her eyes. "That's true, but you might yet. I hope you don't. I hope the pain finds its match in you."_

_"Father?" _

_"It's not just fools that go into the forest, Frances. It's everyone who's made peace with the pains they suffered. The forest is not infinite. Do you understand?" _

…

Frances Grey opens her eyes. Carefully sitting up, she looks around and sees Adrian lying on a couch nearby, fast asleep. When she tries to get out of bed, she discovers her legs are completely unresponsive. Even her toes refuse to move.

Wiping her eyes, she knocks on the headboard. "Adrian!"

He leaps out of bed, blinking away the sleep. "My- my lady!"

"Henry is dead," she announces. "I don't know the how or why, but I am now a widow. And I've lost my legs. Carry me outside; I neneed to know when it's safe to return to the castle."

…

"I apologise for my sister," Jane tells Edward. "Kat and I should have kept a better eye on her."

"Jane," Edward says, before she speak further. "Please, sit down."

Complying, she brings her head down to her hand. "My mother-"

"I haven't heard news about her," Edward says, carefully placing his arms around her. "Jane, you have my deepest sympathies. Your father- Your father was killed by armed robbers on his way to here."


	7. The Time is Now

"Your Majesty wished to talk to me privately," John Dudley says, waving away the guards.

"John, yes," Edward says, pocketing his book. "Let us walk." As they do, he asks, "How are you?"

"I'm well, sire," John answers. "I managed to find a vendor who still has some lobelia; they're to be delivered to Lady Frances's chambers when she arrives." At Edward's disapproving look, he says, "Your Majesty, Frances has never placed any importance on floriography; if anything, knowing the supposed meaning has only deepened her appreciation of the plant, which she finds most pleasing."

"I'm glad all is well between the two of you," Edward replies, uncertainly. "Since you mention her, I wish to talk to you about her eldest daughter and your daughter-in-law, Lady Jane."

"Indeed."

"I wish to give Jane a title of her own and some suitable property. I greatly hope she and my bride will be fast and good friends, but if for some reason, she finds herself unhappy at the court, I don't wish for her and her youngest sister to be forced to return to Lady Frances's care. Jane was taught in my stepmother, Queen Katherine Parr's, care when she was younger, and I am confident she can handle her own household without the guidance of a husband. What do you suggest?"

"I will do some research, Your Majesty, and make a suggestion at the end of the day." He hesitates. "Your Majesty definitely intends to marry the Infanta of Aragon, then?"

Stopping, Edward looks at him. "John, I value your opinion over that of almost everyone at court. If you have reservations, you need to promptly express them."

John chuckles, slightly. "Your Majesty, for a long time, there were tentative plans for you to marry Lady Jane. It's what Frances has always desperately wanted. I tell you that honestly. However, if you objected, I would not scheme with her to try to make the match. I have no right to say this, but I was once your age, I've raised several boys who were once your age, and I can see how you look Lady Jane. If I were younger, I'd prefer the middle Grey sister, but no one can deny the eldest's simple beauty. You look at her as a man does, and quite frankly, as a man who is to be wedded to someone else shouldn't."

"As always, I value your blunt honesty," Edward says, distantly, resuming his walk. "Yes, I love Jane. She's a scholar, John, and she's been badly mistreated on her marriage bed. From all I've heard, Princess Sofia was most glad to hear of our upcoming marriage. If she had strong objections, she's a princess by birth, and I imagine she could extract herself. Anne Boleyn was meant to marry someone else, I've heard. My father made it impossible for her to marry a suitable man. I've heard there was talk of my mother being betrothed, and he took care of that, as well. I won't use my Kingship to force an unwilling woman into marriage."

"Do you know for a fact Lady Jane would be unwilling, sire?"

"No. But if I ask her, and she refuses, it might damage our friendship. I can _talk_ to her, John, even more than I can you. She and Barnaby are the only true friends I can honestly say I have."

"All I can say is that the Infanta is everything Your Majesty needs in a wife, pretty, obedient, and Reformist. I agree with Cranmer, however. There's a good chance, even if she gives you sons, you won't be happy. But I've watched you go from boy to man, and while I hope you turn out to be a good King, I can already say you're a good man. I'll research titles and land for Lady Jane, my sovereign, but if I might volunteer my own opinion, I think Queen of England and all of the Kingdom might be the most suitable for the widow who's stolen your heart."

"You are dismissed, my duke," Edward says, tiredly.

...

"What do you think, sir," Jane asks, eagerly, as she and Barnaby supervise the relocation of the Duke of Suffolk's portrait to her mother's chambers.

"I think you ought to be one of Edward's advisers," Barnaby answers, looking down at the proposal she's drawn up.

Every other month, Edward allows two weeks for courtiers to present proposals before the council; not many do, for Edward has little patience for frivolity. However, when Jane was told of this, she'd immediately asked if women were allowed the opportunity, as well. Upon receiving an affirmative, she'd immediately started doing her research and penning and re-penning both the proposal and the best ways for her to effectively present it.

"Mister Fitzpatrick, I'm asking for your sincere opinion."

"My lady, if I could understand a word of this, I'm sure I'd tell you that his majesty is certain to be impressed. However, unlike the two of you, I don't enjoy reading, writing, or debating religion. If I had my way, I'd let Catholics be Catholics and Reformist be Reformists."

"Catholics answer to the Pope," Jane responds, primly.

"I answer to the Pope on spiritual matters and Edward on legal matters," Barnaby answers.

"Spiritual laws are the guidance behind secular ones," Jane retorts. "And some would say his majesty is a more suitable spiritual leader than the Pope is."

Sighing, Barnaby shakes his head. "It doesn't much matter to me. I do whatever Edward wants, and all I ask in return is to be allowed to privately attend Mass and partake in the rituals of the Catholic Church. Well, that and his last chocolate sweet at dinner. If he denied me the former, I'd find a way to be happy. But I don't see, my lady, how there's really that much of a conflict between my King and the Pope." Handing the papers back, he says, "I suggest you show these to Edward. Whether he'll agree or not, I can't say, but I'd be surprised if he weren't impressed with your work."

"What would you do if he denied you the latter," Jane inquires, accepting her papers back with good grace.

"Oh, King or not, I'd find a way to wage war," Barnaby answers, grinning. "I'm sure I'd find some way of getting around the fact I'm one step above peasantry and frankly aren't smart enough to raise a rebellion."

"What if his wife or child claimed it?"

"Must you bring up such piercing, well-thought out points, my lady?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Jane answers, smiling slightly.

"Show it to, Edward," he says, more seriously. "Your goal, to help the poor, is a worthy one."

…

"Your children are beautiful," Mary says, looking down at the miniature of Thomas Keyes's family.

"Thank you, Madam," Thomas says, cutting her a slice of cake. "I haven't seen any of them in several years."

Mary gives him a sympathetic smile.

Over the last two weeks, this has become routine for them to meet for midday meal in the stables. After she'd been calmed down by Jane and Kat, she'd come to apologise to him for her rudeness, and he'd offered her a piece of rum cake he hadn't finished earlier; that had turned into an invitation for dinner the next day.

"Have you thought of remarrying, sir?"

"I have," he answers. "But my wife and I was a simple couple. We raised our children, and we mostly kept to ourselves. She wasn't an ambitious woman, and so long as she and our children were taken care of, I wasn't much of an ambitious man."

"Kat might be an option," Mary says, thoughtfully.

Laughing, Thomas says, "Lady Mary, as much as I appreciate it, I don't need a matchmaker. I'll be the first to admit to the loneliness, but my first marriage was a love match. I married my dearest friend, and if I'm ever to remarry, I want it to be someone I can say the same of."

"My parents were a love match," Mary notes, some of her gloom returning. "Mother is an ambitious woman, and from what I've heard, there was a bit of a scandal when she married my father. But look what they've accomplished. Jane is one of our cousin's favourite people, and Katherine has all the unmarried men, and some of the married ones, at that, fighting for her hand during dances. She'll do well, I think."

"You're forgetting one," Thomas says, gently but firmly.

"Sir, I don't think badly of myself. When I said my life wasn't much of a loss- I'm a happy person, but for my family, I would willingly give my life. That's all I really meant."

"You don't seem to realise the value you have, Madam."

"Well, if ever there's a need of gambling, I might just be useful," she jokes.

He smiles but says, "Don't discount kindness and an ability to truly listen to others, my lady. They're rarer traits than they ought to be, but you have extra."

…

Opening the carriage door, Adrian picks Frances up.

Feeling smaller than she has in a long time, Frances nods. "Onward."

"Yes, Madam."

When he gets to the doors, however, they find the Duke of Northumberland waiting. "Here," he says, quietly.

Adrian tightens his hold, but Frances says, "Hello, John." Looking up, she gives Adrian a curt nod.

Reluctantly, he hands her over.

"Go check the stables," she orders. Then, to John, she inquires, "How is your wife?"

As he walks, John answers, "If she could divorce me, she would. I haven't been allowed home since Guildford's death."

"I swear to you I had nothing to do with that."

"I'm glad you're well, Frances," he says, somewhat abruptly. "Life wouldn't be near as interesting without you."

"Careful," she warns. "Neither of us can go soft in our age. How are my daughters?"

A servant opens the door to her chambers, and John waits until they're inside, the door shut, to answer, as he sets her down on a couch, "Edward is having grave misgivings about his engagement to that Spanish princess. I don't know if I've swayed his mind towards your girl or not, but I've given it my all."

"And the other two?"

"Your middle girl is a breath of fresh air to the court, and your hunchback seems to have made a new friend. Thomas Keyes, head gatekeeper."

Alarmed, Frances tries to get up, only to be reminded she can't. "Is Mary still a maid? What if he's gotten her in a fix? Damn it, I knew I should have kept that lass locked in the country!"

Making a sound of amusement, John says, "Keyes is a pious a man. He's also something of a freak himself, being even taller and heavier than your uncle, King Henry, was. They have midday meal together; if anything else where going on, it soon be obvious. A man his size couldn't enter a girl her size without there being unmistakable evidence afterwards."

Frowning, Frances nevertheless settles back into the couch with relief.

There's a knock on the door, and he stands to leave. Reaching out, she grabs his hand. "Come for supper later tonight. I'm not up to eating in the great hall, just yet."

He nods, briefly squeezing her hand, and then, goes to open the door.

…

"The proposal's a good one," Frances declares, handing it back to her daughter. "John will argue against it, and if you want to be taken seriously, you must be calm but respectful as you thoroughly counter every point he makes."

"Thank you, my lady," Jane answers. "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"Your grandfather was a soldier," Frances says, startling Jane. Looking at his portrait, she continues, "Do you think he feared being called a sodomite? That he feared for his reputation? No; Buckingham once held him at knifepoint for sharing Anne Hasting's bed, and even so close to death, he was cheeky and unrepentant. He, a common man, married a Princess of royal birth. I imagine he eventually made peace, but that act of continuing cowardice always haunted him. I raised you to be afraid, daughter, and instead, you turned out to be remarkably brave. If you stay silent, you're going to wonder what it would be like to be Edward's first. When you see his children, you're going to wonder if they could be yours. Your father is dead, and I'm unable to do much but sit here and think. But I tell you plainly that I'm not sitting here, wondering if I could have been happy, if I should have ignored everyone who warned me against taking up with that beautiful, bold knight who once brought me 24 lobelia. I did ignore them, and I was happy. I'm not wondering about the children we might have had or about the adventures that could have been ours to have and share. Do as you will, but know whatever choice you make will have life-altering consequences."

"Mother," Jane says, quietly, hesitating.

"Go, child. I'm tired and wish to take a nap. There's nothing you can do for me at the moment."

Nodding, Jane curtsies, quickly leaving, only to stop once in the hallway tell the servant guarding the door, "Listen very carefully, lest my lady mother need anything."

…

Stephen Gardiner represses a sigh. His name was cleared a mere three days ago, something Cranmer hasn't taken credit for but likely had a large something to do with, and already, he's holding information that will further divide him from his old friend.

"You are absolutely certain, my child?"

The courtier nods. "Yes, Father. I don't know who ordered it, but Lord Guildford Dudley was murdered by the Grey's Master Groom, Adrian Stokes. I saw it with my own eyes."

"It wasn't a duel?"

"It was, Father, but Stokes came specifically looking for Lord Dudley and challenged him."

"Do you know for certain he was under orders to do so?"

"No, but I know the penalties for a man of his class challenging a man of Lord Dudley's. Servants don't nobly rush out to defend their master's honour unless the promised reward or threat is greater than what they know will happen if they're caught. Especially any servant of Frances Grey, who is known not to suffer fools, even doubly when it comes to those employed by her household."

Stephen certainly can't argue with any of that.

…

"Oh, no," Jane says, in quiet disappointment as she sees the council members departing.

"Cousin Jane," Edward greets. Seeing the proposal in her hand, he waves the others on, "Come, Lady Jane; we shall talk about your presentation at the next council meeting in private."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jane agrees.

Once everyone has left, he shuts the doors. "How is your lady mother coping?"

"I'm not sure," Jane answers, honestly, sitting down. "She's always been something of a rambler, but now, there's something beneath it. I can't say whether it's a sign of her trying to pull herself up or of depressed acceptance. I pray to God it's not the latter, for my mother has never truly lost her iron will."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Aside from keeping her in your prayers, I don't think so," Jane answers, handing him her proposal. "I thank you for your kindness towards our family."

Nodding, he begins reading the proposal. When he's done, he says, in awe, "Lady Jane, this is extraordinary."

Flushing with pride, she says, tentatively, "I wasn't sure. Mister Fitzpatrick didn't understand it, and my mother warned me the Duke of Northumberland would argue against it. I had some help from Mrs Eleanor, as well as gathering opinions from various people."

"Why so shy, Lady Jane," Edward inquires, not unkindly. "Doctor Ascham says you're an excellent debater."

"I debate well in letters," Jane answers. "When it comes to verbally speaking with others, though my opinion rarely changes, I tend to be outspoken by others. Their presentation comes across better than mine."

"You need not worry," he assures her. "John challenges everyone. He's a skilled verbal debater, and it's his way of seeing how sincere a person is to their proposal. He tends to respect those who attempt to defend their position, even if they do so badly, than those who simply give it and try to answer the unchallenging questions."

"But you believe it has a chance."

"Yes," he answers, simply, handing it back. "As always, you bring honour to your family with your intelligence and compassion."

"Thank you," she says, giving him a small smile.

"You'd best do it on Friday rather than next week," he continues. "On Monday, the arrangements for bringing my fiancée are to be discussed," he says with a sigh.

"So soon?" She doesn't mean to say it, but she'd thought it'd be the beginning of next year.

"Time is running out," he answers, gloomily. "If God forbid, I should suffer a relapse-"

"If God forbid," she echoes, crossing herself.

Taking a deep breath, she remembers all the years of trying to defy her mother, of her blunt opinion to Princess Mary and the Catholic servants. She can be direct and sure of herself when it comes to religion. Her father's dead, and her mother might not have regrets, but Jane knows from experience that when death comes, a person looks back and sees they didn't have the time they ought've. "Edward, I once confided in you that my heart had pledged itself to someone, but I refused to tell you who. I'm ready now."

Keeping his tone neutral, he answers, taking her hand. "You can confide anything to me, Lady Jane."

Knowing she needs to look at him, fighting the urge to look down, she says, almost too quiet to be heard, "It's you. It's always been you, Edward. Ever since we were children and I didn't truly understand what it meant about you someday being King, I've found myself loving you."

For a long moment, he's quiet, face deliberately blank, but then, not letting go of her hand, he stands and moves closer to her. "Jane- May I kiss you, Jane?"

"Please," she answers, softly, standing, as well.

He reaches over, placing his free hand on her neck, wishing he could thread his fingers through her hair, and leans down, softly pressing his lips against hers, and she responds.

Though it's awkward for both, Jane finds herself amazed at how truly wonderful kissing can be, and Edward feels as if this might be the best feeling he ever has and ever will feel.

"Your Majesty," Cranmer says, bursting through the room, "I-"

Quickly, the two break apart, both extremely red.

"Ah, yes, Archbishop Cranmer," Edward says, trying hard to keep a straight face. "Ah." Taking Jane's hand, the two glance at each other, which proves to be a mistake, for it's impossible for either to wipe the smile away, now. "Should I call an emergency council meeting regarding Infanta Sofia, or should I wait until Friday? Obviously, I've discovered a need to break my engagement."

Cranmer looks at the two red younglings, both smiling with unrestrained brightness, hands linked, as they sneak glances at one another. His news can wait, he decides, unwilling to taint this newly found happiness of two people in love. He finds himself smiling softly.


	8. Dresses and Politics

"But Jane isn't-"

"It doesn't matter," Frances informs Mary as the cards are dealt. "I wore my hair long and unbound on my wedding day, and so shall she."

"As expected of maids," Mary answers.

Shaking her head, Frances says, "Dear child, there's been no one but your father, but when a virgin woman marries a man, it's often a sign the marriage is to be an unhappy one. Often, consummation is performed after the engagement is legally formalised."

"Jane wore a white hood and veil at her last wedding," Mary says, her face making visible her surprise at such news.

"I allowed that because we all knew it was a sham; even if Guildford hadn't turned out to be an unforgivable brute, no true affection ever would have been formed between the two. This is different, daughter. Nowadays, plenty of widows and women of known looseness wear their hair as flowing on their wedding day; since this is to be Jane's true marriage, no one will speak badly of her. It will be a sign of the rightness of this union."

Both jump as the door hitting the wall reveals a looming John Dudley.

"Welcome, John," Frances notes as she ignores her shaking daughter. "I must have missed the part where a servant announced your presence and I gave you consent to enter my chamber. Mary, go wrap a blanket around yourself and bring me my robe. John, for God's sake, shut the door!"

He does, and after Mary is gone, he hisses, "Is it true? Tell me, honestly, or so help me-"

Exasperated, Frances says, "John, there is some part of this conversation that one of us was not present for, and I don't think it was you. I'll answer honestly once I have some bloody idea as to what I'm answering."

"A witness claims your servant, Adrian Stokes, deliberately provoked Guildford into a duel and killed him. He was arrested, and his only response has been to invoke, 'God is my witness, and I place myself in His Hands.' He's a bloody Catholic! You hired a Catholic!"

"Mary," Frances says, tiredly, "bring the robe."

As Mary, incomprehension written on her face, does so, wrapped as best she can in the large comforter, Frances says, "I didn't select Adrian; a few years ago, he saved Mary from a wild horse. In repayment, Henry employed him. Secondly, this doesn't prove Adrian is guilty. For all either of us know, this is a plot to ensure my daughter's engagement isn't formalised."

"If he is, however, guilty?"

"Then, I swear to you on my life and Henry's everlasting soul, I had nothing to do with it."

"What of your daughters?"

Mary squeaks, and Frances reaches over, absently patting her. "John, think of your words for a moment. Forgetting her irritating pride in holiness, Jane wanted an annulment; it's obvious she's unhappy with her widowhood. She had Edward on her side. Putting aside the fact my second girl was a sight too busy trying to stop her annulment, we'd know if Katherine had been visited by or exchanged letters with Adrian; the last time she saw him was before she left to live at the Earl of Pembroke's. That leaves Mary, who was always kept in close proximity to Mrs Eleanor. Before you think of accusing her, remember that your son was killed by sword rather than poison, which is the most common method used by women of her class."

John sits down. "Why," he wonders, "couldn't he just have died?"

"Careful, John," Frances says, "that is treachery."

…

"This doesn't look good, Mister Stokes," Cranmer says, softly. "Insisting on a jury of priests, whilst your mistress is Reformist. Are you doing this to harm Lady Jane's chances of marrying King Edward?"

Finally, Adrian responds. "The opposite, Archbishop. Whether I'm found guilty or innocent, I want it clear none of them had anything to do with the man's death."

"What are you?"

"Regardless of what a jury decides, the final decision's is God's," Adrian answers.

Sighing, Cranmer says, "Mister Stokes, I love Lady Jane deeply for the happiness she brings the King and for her value to the Reformation. I am a man of God, whether Catholics recognise me as such or not. As such, I do sincerely wish to help you. As God is my witness, I'll not use your words against you. Please, give me an honest answer. Did you challenge Guildford to a duel and kill him with your sword?"

He receives no reply.

…

"What do you think, Mary," Princess Elizabeth inquires, holding one of the letters they received.

"I think," her older sister says, heavily, "this is the last sign England is doomed. You and Edward have won."

"Oh, come now," Elizabeth says, having little patience for yet another religious argument. "I've sure the feast will be splendid, with plenty of dancing and games. I imagine Lady Jane will dress and dance as drearily as ever; you and I will be the two prettiest ladies at court in our fine dresses."

Mary, however, is having none of it. "Don't you understand, Elizabeth? You need not pretend to hold any love for me. Edward is marrying that fanatical, self-righteous girl, and soon, sons, doomed to follow the damning path with the misleading name of Reformism, will follow. I've heard, when he was dying, he tried to make Jane heiress. He'll do that, now. If God forbid, he dies with no heir, his Queen dowager will become Supreme Ruler, and once she remarries and has children, the boys will be placed in front of us. Perhaps, the girls, as well. I'll never be married or have children. And you may never be Queen, but your religion has won, and they'll always love you."

Elizabeth stands tall. "Mary, I'm sorry you were mistreated by our father and my mother. I was but a baby at the time and could have done nothing. Is love but a game of power to you? When I was younger, you helped ensure I was clothed and fed, and you taught me to play various instruments. I've spent hours making you pieces of embroidery and buying you modest but pleasing jewels with the small amount of money given to me for my personal use. Neither of us have much use for the other's religion, but I thought you saw me as more than that."

"Don't turn this around, Elizabeth," Mary says, tiredly. "I knew your mother, remember. She had your eyes. Or rather, you have hers. She was a cunning woman, bidding her time. She knew when to show affection and when to show aloofness to others, and it's only by the grace of God, King Henry finally realised who and what he'd married. No, love is not a game of power for me, but just as it was for our father, just as it is with our brother, who is most unkind to me in his dealings, so is it for you."

For a long moment, Elizabeth looks at her impassively. "Be that as it may, sister, I shall have my steward commandeer your prized stallion if you do not arrive at the castle with me. Kat Ashley is having a dress of purple made for me, decorated with red jewels. I shall have the design sent over for you, as well. Lady Jane may have the blood of our royal aunt, your namesake, running through her veins, as well as marrying Edward, but we are of nobler and more royal blood than she, especially you, with the blood of Spain's royalty running through your veins."

"Now," she finishes, curtseying, "you must excuse me, sister, for I am needed elsewhere. When you are in better spirits, I shall kiss you."

…

"The dress shall-"

Kat Ashley pauses, and then, quickly hurries over to her sobbing charge. "Elizabeth, what is wrong? Are you ill?" Quickly, she climbs on the bed, grabbing the Princess's hands and pinning her kicking legs down with her own. "My lady, please, calm yourself; I will do anything I can to help you."

…

"Well, I hope you're happy," Katherine remarks. "Everyone is wearing black and gable hoods with very little jewellery."

"How is that my doing," Jane inquires, looking up from the poem Edward wrote her.

Kat gives her a dirty look. "Don't be so naïve, Jane. You're the highest lady at court, and always, that lady's fashion is copied by the majority of the ladies. I never tried to get in between the arguments of your and Mother, but could you please desist in dressing as a nun? I don't see how doing so is good for Reformist religion; even Princess Elizabeth has taken to wearing dresses more in the style of Princess Mary."

"I am fond of my manner of dress," Jane protests.

"I'm not, and nor are most of the ladies. Jane, please, couldn't you add some more colour? And perhaps wear a French hood or a snood? Can't there still be modesty without dullity?"

Jane sighs. She sincerely believes modest clothing is the best sign of outward devotion a Reformist can give, but she also knows a person's clothes shouldn't be a judgment of their inner character. "I will talk to Edward," she says. "I'll not have Mother dictating my wardrobe, again. But as long as the dresses are not ostentatious, I suppose I can try to dress in what others consider prettier colours. Red has always been a favourite of mine. As for the jewels, however, that won't be changing. There's no reason to make a show of how rich and powerful a person is by wearing so many and flaunting them, especially when there are so many people living in intolerable poverty."

Making a relieved sound, Kat kisses her. "Thank you, sister."

She leaves, and Jane begins to write her own poem back to Edward.

…

Frances looks critically at the product of her design.

She'd ordered a large chair from the hall to have carriage wheels wielded to it, but looking at it now, she doesn't believe it'll work.

"Dispose of it," she tells the men, repressing a sigh of bitter disappointment.

"Wait."

They all turn towards the speaker. Seeing that it's Hans Holbein, they bow, while Frances tilts her head downward. "Master Holbein," she says. "Surely, my daughter didn't send for you to seek my advice on your plans for the coronation."

"No, Madam," he answers. "May I sit?"

She nods.

Doing so, he looks at the wheeled chair. "My lady, you are a brilliant woman; no doubt, that is where Lady Jane receives her great intelligence. If I may, I'd like to show you something."

"So be it."

Opening his sketchbook, he shows her a modified design of the chair. "I believe this might work better for you, Madam. As you can see, your idea, though inspired, didn't take into account…"

…

"I need no titles," Jane informs Edward as they walk the gardens, hands linked together, staying in the eyesight of the guards. "You always make me the happiest when you simply call me 'Jane'."

"I know you like not to hear it, but the truth is that my miraculous recovery could be revoked by God at any time, Jane," he says, softly. "If that should happen, especially before we are wed, I want you to have both comfort and freedom. I know how deeply you love both your sisters, and I want you to be able to pay Lady Katherine's dowry if she's not already wed, as well as provide adequate care for Lady Mary."

She shudders and stops. Reaching over, she kisses him, uncaring of the watchful guards. "Everything is changing," she notes. "I thank God for it, and I pray they only continue to change for the better. If it pleases you to give me titles, so be it. But always remember that I desired you long before I even understand the importance of titles or that you had the power to grant them."

"I've never doubted that," he says. "What's troubling you, my love?"

The endearment brings a smile to her face. Leading him over to a bench, they sit down, and she tells him about her conversation with Kat. "I know why my parents wished me to wed you," she continues, "but all my life, I've wanted to learn and help people. I've never liked their scheming. Now, everything I do is political, and I know marrying you will give me access to more than I could ever hope for as a simple lady, as well as I know that doing so will give me great power to achieve my goals. You once said that, if you were simply Edward and I was simply Jane, you'd be happy to marry me. The only thing that kept me from wishing for it to be so was my knowledge that the Kingdom needs a sovereign such as you."

He's quiet for a moment. Then, squeezing her hand, he says, "I love you, Jane. I've loved you for many years. The Reformation is far from complete, and poverty and both preventable and untreated treatable illness plague this great country. Education is low in commoners. My goals are your goals. I believe God spared me so that, with you as my bride, we can do His work together. We both have a duty to the Kingdom, and our love for one another will help us through the difficult aspects."

Nodding, she looks down at their hands, steeling herself. "Since we are to be married, would you allow me to stay in your chambers tonight? And perhaps, have your dogs attended to elsewhere?"

Edward's face changes, and he says, gently, "Jane, look up at me."

She does, her face burning.

"If that's what you want, I certainly won't object. It's just I want you to know that I will always respect you and treat you with kindness, especially in that area."

"I know," she answers. "I do sincerely wish to lay with you in such a way, as soon as you are willing."

"I'll have the dogs put in Barnaby's apartment," he says, unable to keep a look of happiness of his face. Leaning over, he kisses her, and she responds eagerly.

…

"My lady," Adrian says, standing up.

He looks at her bizarre method of transportation with respect but no surprise. She may have lost use of her legs, but she'd never continue to rely on litters and people bodily carrying her to get around.

Once the door is closed, she motions for him to sit. "Did you duel and kill Guildford, Adrian?"

"Yes, Madam."

"Why?"

When he hesitates, she throws her shoe at him. "Answer me, Adrian. Did Henry give you the orders?"

"I was under no orders, Madam," he says, returning the shoe.

"Adrian, I know that tone, and I will not abide it. You will tell me what motivated you, and until you do, I will not leave this dirty, dank cell."


	9. Live to Die

_Several months ago…_

"You need not follow us so," Eleanor says, crossly. "You've already told your lady, I know. The least thee could do is not ruin what little chances she has in what little time there is."

"The reason I follow is to ensure no harm comes to either of you," Adrian answers. "I didn't like that baker; he was a cruel man."

"Does thee think I'm as naïve as little Marie? He's not an option, despite the sweets he gave her. Unfortunately, he's the last baker within respectable distance; a lawyer is the next step. A pity, though, for those who can make food are more welcome in times of hardship than those who can recite olden books."

"Aye to that," Adrian says, finishing his cup. Leaning over, he kisses her cheek. "I'm going out tonight; make sure my papers are safeguarded."

"Be safe," Eleanor answers. "Now, more than ever, Lady Jane and Mary need protection."

Nodding, he slips on his cloak and departs the room connected to the Lady Mary's. For a long time, she slept in the servant's quarters with Eleanor, but eventually the Lord and Lady Grey were convinced to give her a large closet as her personal room; a small room was built connecting to it for Eleanor.

Slipping out of the house, making sure the doors and windows are all locked before he does, he scales the gates, knowing someone or something will cause a stir if he opens them.

Once he arrives at the tavern, he sees Guildford Dudley with several men, a woman in his lap. Sitting down nearby, he orders a cup of small ale.

"My lady mother is dreadfully unhappy, but personally, I can't wait to be rid of the bitch. She had the audacity to accuse me of rape!"

"Careful, Guildford," one of the men advises. "From what my sister-in-law hears, she might already be the King's mistress."

"I doubt it," another says. "He and Barnaby Fitzpatrick have an interesting friendship; some say they're lovers."

"He's welcome to either of them," Guildford replies, grouchily. "If he is with her, he's not getting any pleasure, I assure you all. She cries and hardly moves. Aside from that, she's no obedient woman but a strong-willed, overly-educated girl."

"That means you're doing something wrong, Dudley," the woman says. "We don't cry and act as if a fish on land if the man is doing his duty properly."

Adrian isn't surprised when the woman slides into his line of vision as Guildford curses her out. A young boy and girl rush over to help her up, leading her away.

After his friends have convinced him to sit back down, he says, "In a few days, my mother is to visit the marchioness. You know, I've always suspected Father and her were conducting an affair. She's the one who made Jane and I marry, and she's the one pushing for our disgrace, with his help. I can only hope my mother finds a way to poison that schemer."

Closing his eyes, Adrian takes several quiet, deep breathes.

"From what I've heard, Lady Jane is very intelligent and diplomatic, sure signs of schemers."

"Oh, she's certainly a schemer. What I mean is that Frances Grey would let the devil himself enter her if it would advance her lot in life. I'm not sure that isn't the case with Jane; though for the sake of my soul, I hope it's not with my father. Incest would explain her lack of child, but I'd never willingly do such a thing."

"No matter how ambitious your father is, he wouldn't do that," one of them comforts him.

"Do you really think Lady Frances would cuckold her husband?"

"Certainly, one or more of the Grey girls could well be bastards. Now bald, Henry Grey had black hair in his youth, but Jane and Lady Katherine both have their mother's red hair. That little hunchback is blonde, and two healthy, married parents do not produce deformed children. Jane has ugly freckles on her face and other parts of her body."

"Do you think your mother will make any progress with her?"

"Of course not," Guildford answers. "No woman has Lady Frances's skill. She'll insult my mother and throw her out. I pray for that wench's death. I pray she's raped by dogs and left to freeze. I pray for her daughter to be barren and shoved off to some rigorously Catholic nunnery. And Lord Henry can rot in Hell for failing to be a man, always succumbing to his wife's will and either not knowing or simply accepting what she's doing with my father."

When they leave, Adrian follows them; they go to a brothel, and while they separate, he makes himself known. "Lord Guildford Dudley," he says, quietly, nodding a woman away. "I am Adrian Stokes, servant to Lord and Lady Grey; you have done great dishonour to my master and mistress, as well as to their daughters, most especially your wife."

"Huh," Guildford answers, the drink somewhat affecting him. "And what are you going to do about it? Challenge me to a duel? You'll lose, you know."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

…

_Present_

"Madam, the youngest Dudley boy insulted the entire Grey family, as well as wishing explicit harm on more than one of its members."

"Second youngest," she corrects, with a sigh. "Though, I often forget about the true youngest myself. Adrian, why did you do this? I don't know if I can protect you. Jane was soon to have her annulment. All was well."

"I ask not for your protection, Madam," he answers. "He consented to the duel; I did not strike him unarmed."

"I don't give a damn how he died or how you killed him; I want to know why you did so. He was a foul-mouthed, stupid brute of a boy; why did you bother with him?"

Adrian doesn't answer.

"Answer me."

He considers his words. "Madam, I am forever grateful for what you and your lord husband have done for me, and I look upon your three daughters with great affection. He claimed you were an adulteress and implied one or more of your daughters be bastards. He wished harm upon you, your husband, and Lady Jane. My feelings overtook me."

"Well, I can't say I'm displeased with the brute's death," Frances says, more to herself than to him. "Though, John deserves better than this."

After a long moment of quiet silence, Frances says, "I will try to help you, Adrian, for you have served this family well. Answer no questions, and make no attempts at escape."

"Yes, Madam."

…

"You'll protect him, I assume."

"I shall try, yes," Frances answers, the next day, back in her apartments. "He was an indiscreet boy, John, and if Adrian hadn't struck him, someone else would have."

"He loves you."

"What conversation are we on now?"

Sitting down, John reaches over, briefly plucking at her dress. "Mister Stokes is a fool, and I say so not because of what he did to my son, but because he loves you. Same as Henry was a fool. Though, I suppose it makes sense, for Stokes lives to die."

"No one lives to die," Frances replies, as she rolls her eyes. "Some people are born to die, but everyone, in the end, fights death. It's the nature of man and animal both. And Adrian may well be a fool, but he holds no love for me. He's fond of Mary, wishes well for Katherine, and is respectful of Jane, as well as grateful to Henry."

Changing the subject, she asks, "Have you taken a mistress, John? I know you have a strange sense of honour outside your usual character about marital fidelity, but since Jane refuses to call you husband any longer, it seems such honour is no longer applicable."

"Unfortunately, it is to me," he answers. "I want Stokes's death, Frances, and I will fight you for it."

"Of course," she answers, unsurprised. "Will you join me for supper, later? Mary's spending the night with Kat, and my new Marquess is likely to stay with the King after their meal together."

"Young love," he comments, standing. "I won't be done until nine tonight."

"I'll wait."

"Then, I shall be delighted. Good day, Frances."

"Good day."

…

"Shall I bring you some food, my lady," the serving girl asks, worriedly.

"No," Kat says, looking down at the papers. "Bring me some coffee, and send the next lady in."

With Jane's formal betrothal so soon, Kat knows how important it is to have twelve ladies, six maids and six matrons, ready to seamlessly begin service as ladies-in-waiting. Her sister may be a scholar, but frankly, Kat doesn't trust her to judge who is and who isn't a good lady for the position.

"Lady Katherine," a woman says.

Looking up, Kat quickly judges her as she stands to greet her. Possibly Catholic judging by the cross hanging from her neck, despite Kat's repeated declarations Catholics need not waste her time or theirs by applying, suitably pretty, carrying a some book of some kind. "Call me Kat," she instructs, pleasantly. "Everyone does. Now, which are you, Madam?"

"Lady Anne Marie Thomason," the woman answers as follows Kat's nonverbal order to close the door. "I am Lord Thomason's daughter-in-law."

"Sit down," Kat says, digging through some of her notes. Lord Thomason is part of the King's privy council and spoke in support of Jane's annulment, she remembers. He'd submitted an application for his widowed daughter-in-law as soon as Kat had started taking them. "You're widowed, I see. One son. Tell me, how are you addressed?"

"Anne Marie, my lady," she answers.

"And what is your religion?"

"Lutheran, my lady. My husband was Protestant. My mother-in-law is simply Reformist, and that is what my son is being raised as."

"Is there anything that could cause Lady Jane embarrassment if it came to light? Before you answer, let me assure you I am not one to gossip unkindly. However, if you lie, and embarrassment befalls the Queen, you will be harshly punished."

"I married William, my husband, a year after my son was born," Anne Marie answers.

"Your son is a bastard, then?"

"My husband had his birth listing changed, declaring him as legitimate. He gave him his name."

"Well," Kat says, thoughtfully, "I didn't expect to encounter a situation such as this. Tell me the story behind all of this, Lady Anne Marie."

As Anne Marie does, Kat realises this is going to be harder than she first thought.

…

"Adrian has always been so kind," Jane frets. "If this is true, why would he do such a thing?"

"Do you mourn for Guildford," Edward inquires, neutrally.

She glares at him. "As a fellow human, yes. Otherwise, God forgive me, no. But I've known Adrian for years, and he's always been so kind to us, especially to Mary."

Reaching over, he pulls her back down against him. "Witnesses say it was a duel. Guildford attempted to enter several before this. If he willingly entered the duel, that casts Mister Stokes in a different life. Legally, he's not a murderer. Morally, I wouldn't say he was, either."

Nodding, Jane closes her eyes.

She's always despised John Dudley, even more than she did his son. If she had her way, he'd be dismissed from Edward's service. However, her words to Barnaby echo back to her. She's never manipulated Edward, and she never will.

Unfortunately, she can't simply ask him to dismiss the duke, either. She knows how fond her fiancé is of him, how much he (wrongly) trusts him. Asking him such a thing would bring a rift between them. Either he would, resenting her, or he wouldn't, which would cause its own set of problems.

"I love you," she says, turning to kiss him. "We must leave this to his jury of priests."

"Yes," Edward answers, running his fingers through her hair. "This won't be easy for any of us, especially you."

"I've lived through plenty of hardships," she answers, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. "For you, I'm willing to live through more."

…

"You can't blame me for this," Stephen says, quietly. "I was required to inform the King of what I was told."

"No, I can't," Cranmer agrees, looking up. "Are you going to oppose the marriage?"

Sitting down, Stephen answers, "How can I? Lady Jane has been made a Marquess, and she visits the King's bedchambers without chaperons during the day and stays there at night. Likely, she's already with child. I have my reservations, but overall, I share your joy. A young, healthy woman, full of grace and kindness. I like her quite well and pity Catholicism for not having her."

"One could use the matter of Guildford."

"Thomas, there's nothing unseemly about a King marrying a widow. I wouldn't put it past Lady Frances or her late husband to have ordered the death of the second youngest Dudley boy, but the honest truth is that, if they did, they saved me from much hardship. I told you I would have opposed an annulment, and I meant it."

Cranmer sighs. "Well, old friend, you and I shall always be divided. But for now, what do you say we go for a boat ride? It's been a long time since my wife made her native German dishes."

"If you would simply add some nutmeg, they wouldn't be so offensive to your tongue," Stephen says, standing and holding his hand out for his friend.

"Says the man who never alters them at all. You've always loved German food."

"That doesn't mean I don't know of ways for people who don't to alter it to make it more palatable."

…

Author's Notes: Usually, Marchioness is the feminine counterpoint to Marquess, but King Henry gave Anne Boleyn the title of Lady Marquess of Pembroke. Edward did something similar with Jane.


	10. God's Favour

"Jane," Kat says, catching up to her sister in the hallway. "I've found eleven ladies; six maids, and five matrons. I need you to pick the last one. There are three choices. Two are married, and one's a widow. Personally, I like her the best, but I can't in good conscience recommend her."

Looking down at the papers Kat's shoved into her hands, Jane comments, "Perhaps, Edward should appoint you to selecting the priests for Adrian's trial. Why can't you recommend the widow?"

"It's important your ladies be above reproach," Kat answers. "Ten years ago, Lady Anne Marie's family was visited by King Henry. A knight raped her, and she became pregnant. He was put to death, largely due to Lord Thomason's influence. His son, Michael, developed a strong friendship to her. A year after her son was born, he got permission to marry her, and he adopted the boy."

"To say she's reproachable is to say I am," Jane responds. "Rape, whether done by a husband, family member, stranger, or a friend, is a terrible offence, of which the man is solely responsible for. If you like her Kat, draw the papers to have her appointed. Will you relax now, sister? Even Mother is worried about you."

"Then, she could have helped," Kat responds. "It's not an easy task for one with so little interest in intellectual matters to determine which of them were truly well-educated, nor which are secretly papist sympathisers."

"Kat-"

"Jane, I'm happy, if tired. I'm not a mother, but for once, I'm doing something truly important."

Nodding, Jane kisses her cheek. "Why was well-educated so important?"

"When his majesty is away, you'll likely talk to few other people besides them. Scholarly matters are important to you. And they must largely represent who you are as a person. You can't have a reputation of one of the kingdom's greatest minds and have ladies who can only just read and write."

Smiling, Jane nods. Then, looking around, she pulls Kat on a nearby bench. "Kat," she says, quietly. "My courses have arrived. I'm still not with child."

For a moment, Kat is quiet and considering. "It could be that God doesn't wish you to conceive until you're truly married."

"And if that isn't the case?"

"Edward loves you," Kat answers. "If you can't conceive, we'll figure something out. You're not breaking the engagement, Jane. If this was another case of you simply being used as a pawn, perhaps, that would be different. But you love him, as well. For all you know, it could be the excitement of everything. Once the trial is over and you're married, your body and mind will fully open itself."

"I pray so," Jane answers, worriedly.

…

"I'm worried for Mother," Mary tells Adrian.

He sighs. "What's wrong?"

"She sleeps all the time," Mary answers. "She won't receive me in her chambers, nor does she ever ask for Jane or Kat. The only person she talks to is the Duke of Northumberland."

"Lady Mary," he says, gently, "your lady mother is a schemer, and-"

"I know that, but what would she and he be scheming for? Jane will be married very soon, and I don't think such effort would be required to pick a husband for Kat. I- I'm not sure how to say this kindly, but they wouldn't- be working together to help you."

He smiles, slightly. "No, they wouldn't," he agrees. Then, he says, carefully, "Lady Mary, your mother has always been an athletic woman, as well as physically imposing. Gone is her husband, and you and the others aren't dependent on parents any longer. Your mother and the duke would gladly kill, disgrace, or otherwise destroy the other if they saw that doing so would bring forth good fortune to themselves. But through all that, they're true friends, just as she and your lord father were, and just as the duke and his wife are not."

"My mother would rather die than see my father harmed," Mary argues, though without anger.

"Lady Frances, if women were accepted as such things, would make a fine politician or a general," Adrian says. "She's hard when she needs to be, brilliant in strategy, and has a great ambition for herself and others. Not many accept such things in a woman; your father did, and so does John Dudley. Likewise, he sees only the value of people as far as they can be useful to him, and your mother can recognise and accept such sentiments."

Mary reaches over and squeezes his hand. "He's married," she says, awkwardly. "They'll never be more than-" She fumbles.

"Don't worry, sweet one," he answers, patting her hand. "I think, in time, your mother's spirits will return. How are you and the others doing?"

"Today, Jane and Edward amused the court by having an argument over breakfast about whether Saint Paul was truly married or not," Mary answers. "It was all very theological. But once they finished eating, they left, hands together, and so, I don't think it's anything to worry over. Kat has all the eyes of all the men, but she refuses to seriously take up with any of them. She's decided she'll not marry anyone other than an ambassador. Thomas- I mean, Mister Keyes and I are getting along very well; he's taught me several games of dice."

Nodding, Adrian takes a deep breath. "Lady Mary, if I'm to die, try not to be sad on my account. I've lived longer than perhaps I should. Try to be there for your lady mother, and look out for your sisters as best you can. Even as Queen, Lady Jane's life won't be much easier than when she was younger. And Lady Kat is always going to need your friendship."

"Why did you do it," Mary blurts out. "Everyone says you lost your temper at hearing what he said. But you've never lost your temper."

"I have," he answers. "Just not around you." Then, leaning back, he says, "But I didn't lose my temper in that instance, no. I made the decision he wasn't fit to continue living, which I had no right to do."

"I'll pray for you," Mary says. "And I'll try not to be too sad, but if you do die, I won't ever forget you."

…

"Mary will be insufferable," Edward says, gloomily, as he continues his work on the newest chapter to his latest book of religious guidelines.

"To be honest, I'm more worried about the younger of the two," Jane says, making notes to modify her latest proposal. "I think Princess Mary will be genuinely happy once we have a child; Catholic or not, I think she deserves to be godmother. Princess Elizabeth, however, has never looked fondly upon me, and the feeling is mutual."

"I agree," Edward says, "but if our first child is a girl, I don't wish her named after either of them."

"What name would you like," Jane inquires, curiously. "I wish to honour your mother, but I'm not sure 'Jane' would be the best idea. Perhaps, the name of her mother or one of her sisters?"

Pausing in his writing, Edward looks up. "Jane, is it possible you're-"

"No," she interrupts, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry. My courses started earlier."

Reaching over, he takes her hand. "It's best our children be conceived after the marriage, anyway. Don't fret, Jane. I love you, and nothing will convince me God doesn't approve of our union."

She nods, looking up to smile at him. "If we continue to pray for Princess Mary's soul, I hope she'll see the light. Until then, however, I'm not sure if banning her popish practises, so long as she does them discreetly, will have any effect but to further alienate her. At her household, she and I got along well so long as religion never came into play. It was only when I insulted her that she actively attempted to sway me."

"I agree," he answers. "I find myself agreeing more and more with the ideas of religious tolerance; I can only hope God grants those on the Catholic path mercy. At least, Elizabeth is a true Reformist. Perhaps, now that you are both older, there won't be as much competition between the two of you."

"I'm marrying her favourite brother," Jane answers. "If anything, there will be more."

"I'm her only brother."

"That only makes it worse," Jane declares with a serious face, breaking into a smile when Edward is unable to keep himself from laughing.

…

"Your daughter might yet prove to be infertile," John notes, coughing into his handkerchief.

"It might the King," Frances responds. "What's she done to annoy you this time?"

"They all annoy me," he answers, sitting down. "They treat me with the barest of courtesies, and I know, once she's crowned, your eldest will try to have me removed."

"Jane's devotion to Edward prevents that," Frances replies. "If it didn't, you would already be removed. Be more wary of Katherine, for I've heard she's becoming quite a force."

"You could do something."

"All I will do is to advise you to accept God no longer favours you, as He no longer does me," Frances says. "I've lost my husband and my legs, as well as never bearing a living male child. My youngest, a hunchback, was the last child I had the ability to have. You've lost your son, and your wife's attentions. Ironically, she once declared Guildford had every right to bed my daughter despite her lack of consent; something tells me she wouldn't be so keen on husbandly rights if you tried to assert yours."

"I don't care about being in her bed," John answers. "In our early years, we were friends, she and I. I miss that." Sighing, he says, "And I don't believe I've lost God's favour. I never thought you'd be the type to be so stupidly superstitious."

"I look to the facts," Frances replies. "Do as you will; one of the few times I held Jane as a baby, I promised her the throne. That promise has come close to being fulfilled; if you move against them, I won't lift a finger to help you."

"You've become weak, Frances," he declares, standing. "I won't be joining you for supper tonight."

She doesn't answer aside from briefly nodding, unsurprised.

…

Bowing, Stephen greets, "Majesty; Lady Jane."

"What news have you," Edward inquires.

"Archbishop Cranmer and I have made our final selection for the priests on Adrian Stokes's case," he says, setting the papers down.

"We," Edward says, glancing at Jane, "will look over them tonight."

Nodding, Stephen bows and retreats.

…

"Congratulations, Anne Marie," Lord Thomason says, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you, Father," she answers, smiling at her father-in-law.

"You will be well-suited to the court. Have you written to Harry, yet?"

"No, not yet," she answers. "Father, we must do something about the Duke of Northumberland. He displeases our future Queen."

"Yes," Lord Thomason agrees.


	11. Of Tennis Balls and Nuptials

Legs between the railings, Barnaby watches as the new ladies make their official arrival.

A noise alerts him to another presence, and glancing over, he sees Adrian Stokes nearby. "Ah, Mister Stokes," he says, jumping up. "I'm not sure how one is to congratulate another on being cleared of criminal charges, but I'd like to extend mine. I know Lady Jane and her sisters consider this most happy."

Adrian nods. "Mister Fitzpatrick. I thank you. The ladies have all arrived," he inquires, nodding downstairs.

"Yes," Barnaby answers. "I think, if you stay, you'll find Lady Anne Marie quite interesting."

"Oh?"

Motioning for Adrian to walk with him, Barnaby says, "To speak bluntly, sir, I'm glad Guildford is dead; from what I've heard of him, he more than deserved it. Now, comes the awkward part. I don't believe Edward would ever hurt your mistress's daughter, and I don't believe Lady Jane would ever unjustly accuse him of doing so. Just know that if you ever strike his majesty, you needn't worry about what the law says must be done with you."

"I respect your candour," Adrian answers. "Let me echo your belief in King Edward and Lady Jane. And then, let me provide my part in the awkwardness by saying that as long as I'm in service of the Grey household, no man, whether prince or peasant, will ever go unharmed if he should harm the Grey ladies. If I'd been found guilty, I would've died acknowledging the rightness of the verdict."

"As long as we understand one another," Barnaby says, extending his hand.

"Sir," Adrian replies, shaking it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see if I still have employment, and if my verdict of innocence is enough to save me from death. I think I should prefer a state's death to being ran over with that bizarre contraption."

"God be with you," Barnaby answers, amused.

…

"This pamphlet mentions your ladyship," Lady Jean says, curtsying and presenting it to Jane as the others pack so that she can move into the tower tonight.

"Thank you," Jane says, accepting it. "Thomas Wolsey?"

"No, Madam," Jean answers, reaching over to point out a symbol on the front. "His bastard son, Thomas Wynter; that's his symbol. He always puts his father's name on any pamphlet of his."

"An admirer, then," Jane notes, taking in Jean's blush.

"He's Catholic, my lady," Jean answers, "but writes urging religious tolerance. He's often references Queen Anne and Master Secretary Cromwell in his works."

Looking down, Jane reads.

_It is urgent Catholics accept the lady of the Grey house, Marquess of Bath, as our soon-to-be queene. Our gracious King has suffered much in his young life yet still striven to be a just sovereign, asking his subjects to look to God, and then, to him, with us Catholics looking to His Holiness third. May he rest in peace, King Henry the Eighth was taken from his boy too young, and not long ago, a deadly illness overtook our King. He is wiser than men twice his age, and if he finds the Marquess of Bath to be a good Christian woman, deserving of his most intimate affections, everyone who claims themselves to be Christian need accept his judgement and rejoice in his happiness, praying for both of their good health and the health of their heirs. _

_If there be anything unjust or knowingly untrue in this pamphlet, I pray God will place my blessed father, Thomas Wolsey, his dearest friend, Thomas More, and my godfather, Thomas Cromwell, in charge of my punishment, for I bear the name of all three men, and to dishonour my name is to tarnish theirs. _

"Impressive," she notes, looking down in distaste at More's name. "Has the King been shown? Mister Wynter's message will please him."

"I'll have someone send it," Katherine says, appearing.

Jane sighs.

Whenever she doesn't sleep with Edward, Kat insists three women sleep on pallets each side of her bed. She refuses to let Jane have any privacy, even insisting someone stand outside when Jane has to use the chamber pot.

Logically, Jane sees the reasons in her sister's arguments, but she's still used to the girl who was playfully naughty and refused to take almost anything seriously. Having Kat so commanding, backing her commands with sensible justifications, is still strange.

"I need to see him, anyways, sister," Jane says. "I have to make sure the serving girls all know how to properly cut his eggs. And to make sure his blue quilt is packed into my belongings."

"He's had eggs for sixteen years without you to cut them," Kat answers, moving aside for some men. "And look, here's the quilt."

"I should be allowed to see my own fiancé," Jane says, quietly, as she picks up the letter Edward sent with the quilt and books.

Kat kisses her cheek. "It's tradition, Jane. His majesty's mother and Anne of Cleves were the only queens to not stay in the tower before their wedding." Crossing herself, she says, "You don't want to go the way of either of them."

Nodding in resignation, Jane looks around her chambers, a wave of feeling crashing through her. She came here a battered wife, is leaving a whole widow, and will return a joyous bride.

"I need to fetch Mary," Kat continues. "Anne Marie will take you to Archbishop Cranmer."

"All right," Jane agrees, pocketing the pamphlet and kissing her sister.

…

Jane pauses, seeing Gardiner crossing himself before the host, which she still maintains is nothing more than a piece of bread.

"Stay for a moment," she orders Anne Marie, who curtsies and nods.

She walks over just as Gardiner is turning around. "My lady," he says, bowing and giving a subtle nod to her hand.

Extending it, Jane inclines her head. "Archbishop, I was wondering, have you read Thomas Wynter's newest pamphlet? I was only made aware of his existence less than an hour ago, but as he's Catholic, I assumed you might know of him."

"Yes, Madam," he answers. "As the three Thomases who share his name, he's a man of knowledge, which I always respect. His majesty will be very happy, I believe."

It's the correct answer; she can find no fault in it. The fact she was hoping to find fault disturbs her.

"If my words offend you, I hope you forgive me, Archbishop, but you do not seem to fully support the King's upcoming marriage to me. In fact, you seem to lack the religious tolerance our majesty and Mister Wynter believe in prompting. People speak so diplomatically in this court, and I was brought up to be so myself. The truth is, however, I can be nothing but myself, and I'd prefer to know those who have issue with who I am."

He chuckles, quietly. "Lady Jane, I'm a simple man. I serve God and the advancement of knowledge. I would hope you won't speak ill of me to King Edward, but if you do, I can do nothing to stop you. When I die, however I die, I will die a good Christian man who served King Henry the Eighth and his son to the best of my ability."

"I don't seek to destroy you. I simply wish to know why you are so objectionable towards my marriage. In your heart and mind, not in your public shows of support."

"I'm no fool, my dear lady," he answers. "There is a difference between what a man does and what he privately thinks; often, the line is crossed, but I shan't ever cross it. And if I'm unwilling to cross it, I don't believe I should say it."

"I swear to you, as God is my witness, I will not use your words against you, no matter how insulting they might be," Jane says, firmly.

Sighing, he looks to Anne Marie, motioning for her to sit on a bench near her. Then, to Jane, he leads her to a bench near them. "Lady Jane, you had no chaperones but an old woman when you came to the castle. After your husband's death, you quickly took to the King's bed. Now, I don't hold those things against you. But even Nan Bullen didn't bed King Henry until marriage, my lady, and even Miss Kitty supposedly had chaperones with her at all times."

"My dear child, whatever love King Henry had for Queen Catherine, it was gone by the time I witnessed them. I saw his love turn to hate when it came to Mistress Nan and Miss Kitty. Unlike Queen Catherine, their isolation and torture was short-lived, their heads severed from their body. King Henry was once a scholar, a devout man, and very kind, though I confess, I never saw as much of that side as those older than me did."

"Now, forgive me, but I assume you aren't with child? What if you can't give King Edward sons, my lady? What if you can't give him any heirs, at all? What if, like his father, his love disappears? What will you do? Your mother and sisters? Your other relatives? Perhaps, even the loyal people of the realm? If you have daughters, what of them?" Reaching over, he takes her hand in his and pats it. "Those questions plague me at night. You and the King consider yourselves thoughtful, cautious people, and I don't disagree with that thought in the slightest. You're both a credit to your youth, and the premature loss of childhood didn't come cheap. But you are both still young in many ways. You think you have the whole world ahead of you, all this time. You don't realise how much can truly change. Love is still something purely good in your eyes."

Letting go of her hand, he says, "Everyone thinks I despise Mistress Nan; no, I don't. I regret what I did in helping her crowned. If I had my way, now, I'd've found a way for her to marry Henry Percy. Your favoured lady, Queen Catherine Parr, and I didn't get along, I'll admit, but I don't believe in keeping quarrels with the dead, my lady."

Digesting everything, Jane says, "Are you cynical about everyone's love, sir?"

"Actually, yes, Madam, I am. Do you know how many poor people seek annulments? Or worse, decide killing their spouse is a necessity? How many rich people secretly and openly have lovers? It's not just romantic love, either. Your friend, Archbishop Cranmer, will never truly be at peace now that his dear friend, Thomas Cromwell, is gone. Cromwell himself lost his young daughter; when his wife died, I believe his son's continuing good health was all that stopped him from simply giving up on the world. Your own mother is- Well, the point is, princes need to be held to a different standard than the rest of the realm, as do the women they take as brides. The kingdom can suffer horribly otherwise."

"Well, I thank you for your honesty," Jane says, standing. "Good day to you, sir."

Nodding, he stands, kissing her hand. "My lady."

Walking over to Anne Marie, Jane says, "I wish to clear my head in the gardens before seeing Archbishop Cranmer."

…

As they walk, Jane remembers her mother's story about her grandfather and how he died due to the fear King Henry would die soon.

"Are you feeling ill, Lady Jane," Anne Marie inquires with concern as Jane sighs and rubs her head.

"No, I'm well," Jane answers. "Don't be worried. It's just a headache."

"Would you like to sit down while I fetch you something to drink?"

"Yes, thank you," Jane agrees, seeing a nearby bench.

Once Anne Marie is gone, the sobs come.

A ball rolls at her feet, and she tries to stop them.

"Sorry," a man says. "My friend and I were- Did it hit you," he asks in concern, approaching her.

"No," Jane answers as she wipes her tears and looking up to take him in. He's funnily dressed and has an odd accent, leading her to believe he must belong to the household of one of the many diplomats who have come for the wedding.

Smiling softly, he sits down and reaches over with a handkerchief and wipes her eyes, urging, "Don't cry, my love. With the wedding coming so soon, this is a happy time."

"You don't know who I am, do you," Jane notes, grateful for his kindness and knowing he wouldn't be so informal if he knew who she was.

"I'm a stranger to this court," he answers. "Are you someone who has cause to be unhappy?"

"I'm to be married soon," she says, letting her words fly. "And it's a love match, but this boy's father, he wasn't a man for marriage. There's a possibility I won't be able to provide sons."

"Forgive me, but your clothes are fancy. You must be a noble. If you're allowed to make a love match, and if you think your only use to this boy is to bear sons, why go through with it? I have sons, but for all the women I've been involved with, however frivolous my reasons were, and I do admit I wasn't gentlemanly when I was younger, whether they could give me those sons or children, at all, never crossed my mind."

"He loves me," Jane answers. "I haven't doubted that since he confessed to returning my feelings. But people change. He's the last male of his family. Having a boy is of vital importance."

"Is it better for his Christian name to be remembered or for his family name to continue?"

"Sir," Jane says, quietly, "in his case, they're equally important. I don't know what I'd do if he lost his love for me, and I don't know if I should even be marrying him. It's a love match, but it was pushed by my mother. Her ambitions and my service to God have conflicted in the past."

"Well, I'd say that if this boy loses his love for you, you'll still have God's, my sweet child. What the churches, Catholic and Reformist, teach about marriage and what marriage truly is to many is different. I've always heard God means two people to join together body and soul, to love and respect one another, and to help each other, never straying from the marriage bed. If you and this boy are willing to do all this and be as good as Christians as possible, I can't see why God would object to the marriage, and if God doesn't object, what are the objections of anyone else?"

Jane stills, a feeling of peace and rightness sweeping over her. Everything settles, and she sees the rightness in his words. "Yes," she says, nodding. Smiling, she says, "Thank you, sir. You've helped me more than I can say."

Smiling, he kisses her hand. "I'm glad, my lady. You're a beautiful, kind woman, no doubt bringing pride to your family. Now," he says, standing, "if you'll excuse me, I have a tennis game to win."

"What if you do not?"

He grins. "To be honest, I prefer it when my friend wins. I just refuse to ever hand over the win." Bowing, he retreats.

Sighing, Jane stands up, and then, realises she never got the man's name. Turning the direction he went, she starts to walk, only for Anne Marie's voice to startle her. "Here, my lady. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Thank you," Jane says, turning to accept the cup. "I'm feeling much better. Let's go to Archbishop Cranmer, now."

…

"Stop glaring," Mary pleads.

"Mrs Eleanor, I don't mean to overstep-"

"I'm not yet sure what to make of you, Mister Keyes," Eleanor interrupts. "Never hurt my charge. Lady Mary, the dress is lovely, and you'll wear it to Lady Jane's wedding. I'll have the money to repay Mister Keyes withdrawn."

"Ma'am-"

"Sir, I appreciate your willingness to escort my charge and your help in finding her a suitable dress, but it would be inappropriate for you to give her such a thing. The money will be given to you shortly."

"No one made a fuss about my giving Edward a hat," Mary grumbles. "We're friends, and no one would think otherwise."

As Thomas Keyes looks down, Eleanor watches him, and then, looks down at the tailored dress of purple and gold. "They may not think, but they may hope."

Before Mary can ask what that means, Eleanor reaches over to take her hand. "Come, dear; your sister should be entering the tower shortly."

…

"Majesty," Elizabeth says, curtsying.

"Hello, sister," Edward says, bowing, and then, hugging and kissing her. "Where is our elder sister?"

"Mary did not come with me, but she will arrive shortly," Elizabeth answers. "Recently, she and I had something of a quarrel."

Withdrawing, Edward sighs, rubbing his head. "Elizabeth, I recently almost died. I was almost married to a girl who, completely unwillingly, made me feel incredible guilt. Jane makes me feel blessed. With her, I'm a man, and a true King. I'm willing to let Mary have her popish superstitions so long as she does it discreetly, and I'm willing to let you have whatever you want within reason. Now, as your little brother, I beg you and her to, please, whatever the complaint between you, not let it ruin my wedding."

"Edward, you know we'd never do such an unkindness towards you," Elizabeth says, reaching over to take his hand. "We love you most dearly, brother, and we are joyous about your marriage."

"I pray it so," Edward says, wearily.

"Edward," she scolds.

The door opens, and they both turn towards it.

"Majesty," Mary says, curtseying. "Sister," she greets Elizabeth, neutrally.

As Edward hugs and kisses her, she says, "With your permission, I wish to send Lady Jane's wedding present to her. Yours should arrive shortly."

"Have you no hugs and kisses for me, Mary?"

"Of course," Mary answers, reaching over for Elizabeth. "My dress has been made for the wedding. You and I shall be matching Princesses, my dear."

…

"Is your majesty well?"

"John," Edward says, "my sisters are on icy terms. The Act of Succession is secure, completely? As soon as Jane and I marry, she and her heirs, whether by me or whoever she should remarry, are ensured the throne?"

"Yes, sire," John assures him as they walk. "If God forbid, something should happen to you, Lady Jane will be anointed as supreme ruler. If you have any minor children, she will be regent until the firstborn male or the oldest daughter reaches majority. Should there be no heirs by you, the throne is invested in her legitimate heirs, male or female, by another. Lady Katherine and her heirs are next in line if all that should fail. As agreed, Lady Mary Grey is not qualified despite her royal blood and good character."

"Good," Edward says. "I don't think we're so cursed as to worry about all of that failing, but if it does, Elizabeth and her heirs are placed above our sister, Mary?"

"Yes, sire."

Nodding, Edward sighs, most of the tension leaving him. "Good. Jane and I have discussed it, and we've decided she won't have her coronation until our first child is born."

Raising his eyebrow, John says, "Frances will not like that. May I ask why?"

"It's mostly a matter of economics. Hopefully, by the time our child is born, the treasury will be able to provide enough for a marvellous coronation without us having to heavily tax the people in order to make up for it."

"Lady Jane is certainly destined for you," John comments. "If you'll excuse me, majesty, I'm need elsewhere."

"As you will, my duke."

…

_My sister, Queen Jane, we are most pleased to your upcoming marriage to our dear Edward. I hope you find this gift a suitable token of our affection. _

_Your loving sister-in-law, Princess Mary. _

Jane sets the note down and, trying to be cheerful, unwillingly remembering the gifts of unseemly fancy dresses and jewellery Mary had insisted on giving her in the past, Jane opens the box. "Oh," she says in surprised happiness.

Inside, there's a simple ruby cross, six high quality pens, and a large, thick leather-bound journal, its pages empty.

"This is very kind," Jane says, handing the cross to Kat so that she can help Jane put it one. "I must send a note of thanks at once."

"First, open Princess Elizabeth's," Kat insists.

Nodding, Jane reads the note from the younger Princess.

_Cousin, I pray you and my brother make a happy marriage and have many children, preferably male. Please, accept this humble gift as a token as my goodwill towards you. _

_Your future sister-in-law, Princess Elizabeth. _

Inside is a set of ruby earrings matching the cross and, causing a gasp, a lost book of Anne Askew's. "I'd thought all copies of this had been burned," she says, gently picking it up.

"Princess Elizabeth has her ways," Kat answers, slipping the earrings in Jane's ears.

…

"My how sedate the court is now that Lady Jane has made her mark," Elizabeth comments as she brushes her hair. "No dances, no games, and the feast was eerily quiet tonight."

"Lady Jane is a devout woman," Mary replies, stiffly. "However wrong she is in her beliefs, it's undeniable they are sincere and powerful."

"Sister, you are devout," Elizabeth replies, "and yet, everyone is joyous when you are in a good mood. There are dances, games, and the wonderful music wrought from your musical talent."

"You were given your own chambers, if you're ill-content with my company," Mary says, wincing as she carefully removes her cilice.

Elizabeth looks over, a sharp retort on her tongue, but then, she sighs and comes over to help her sister. "I wish you'd desist in wearing that horrible thing. You're always so ill, Mary, and these religious ceremonies and shows of devotions do nothing to help. God should you like you to be the healthy and strong girl you once were, I think."

"Do not presume to speak for God," Mary orders, firmly. "Your religion and our brother's does this to me. Under Catholicism, the country and my parents' marriage flourished. It wasn't until people close to our father poisoned him towards Reformism, Lutheranism, and Protestantism that everything deteriorated, including my health. I hear tells about this thing called Calvinism, now; though, I suspect it's been around for some time, my servants merely trying to protect my ears from its existence."

"I wish you happy," Elizabeth answers. "If you would simply read the books I send, which you send back unopened-" Kneeling down, she kisses her sister's hand. "I never knew my mother, and so, I can neither defend nor condemn her, but I acknowledge what was done to you was unjust. However, just because she and her supporters caused you harm, why is that indication all Reformers are wrong? Judas betrayed Christ, priests are sometimes corrupt men, there have even been popes who had bastard children with their mistresses and committed other uncouth actions; yet, Catholicism is not a religion of evil. I believe God loves us equally and shall accept both of us come the time of our death."

Mary shakes her head. Pulling Elizabeth up and patting the bed, she answers, "Poor child, you were mistreated by that horrid Seymour character and by the investigators who were sent to see if you planned to commit treason. I had years of kindness, and you have had so little, save for Mistress Ashley. I will pray for you and continue to treat you as I should, and someday, you shall hear mass. The true religion will be revealed."

"Mary-"

"Hush, now," Mary says, kissing her forehead. "Now isn't the time to speak of such things. Tell me, what game do you desire? We shall play to your heart's content, and in the morning, we will dine with Edward."

"And I may sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course, you shall. Just as you were welcome as a child, you may still always come to me."

…

Kneeling, Jane kisses her mother's hand.

"You make a beautiful bride, daughter," Frances says. "I pray you soon give me a grandchild and the King an heir."

"Thank you, my lady mother," Jane says, rising.

Her ladies fall behind her, and she makes her way inside the palace chapel, where Edward is already kneeling before Archbishop Cranmer. Crossing herself, she kneels down beside him, stealing a glance at him.

"Dearly beloved, we are here to witness the union of Edward the Sixth of the Tudor house, King of England, France, and Ireland, and the Marquess of Bath, Lady Jane Grey. Before the marriage vows are exchanged, I will lead a prayer. After the prayer, if there are any objections to the marriage, a person or persons must speak up or forever hold their peace."

After the prayer, everyone crosses themselves, and after a moment of silence, Cranmer says, "Marriage is a sacred institution, which only death can be dissolved. It must be entered into willingly, soberly, and joyously by man and woman alike. I ask you, Edward Rex, do you willingly, of sound body and mind, accept this woman as your wife and swear to love, honour, and cherish her, so long as you both shall live, as God is your witness?"

"As God is my witness, I do," Edward answers.

"And do you, Jane Grey, willingly, of sound body and mind, accept this man as your husband and swear to love, honour, cherish, and obey him, so long as you both shall live, as God is your witness?"

"As God is my witness, I do," Jane answers.

"Now, to seal the ceremony, rings will be exchanged."

Barnaby hands Edward a ring, and turning to her, Edward places the ring over her thumb, "In the name of the holy father," he moves it over her pointer finger, "and of the son," then over her tall finger, "and of the holy ghost," finally, he places it over her ring finger, "amen." He slides it on.

Kat hands Jane a ring, and she repeats the ceremony.

"Before God and these witnesses, I declare King Edward and Lady Jane to be husband and wife. The bride and groom may now kiss."

…

"Princess Mary," Barnaby says, bowing. "I was wondering if you'd honour me with a dance?"

"Gladly," Mary says, accepting his hand. "I've heard, Mister Barnaby, you're to return to France soon."

"Yes, Madam," he answers as they begin dancing. "I'm not sure whether love me or despise me there, but either way, my presence does a better job of ensuring peace between our kingdom and theirs than the ambassadors do."

"Yet, you can't or will not do anything for your supposed Catholic faith."

"I'm as much, though perhaps not as good, a Catholic as you, my lady," Barnaby says, cheerfully. "But I'm a layperson. I take pride in my ability to make Edward laugh, keep France from attacking England, and being able to dance with beautiful women such as yourself."

"I was grown before you were even born," Mary responds, neutrally. "I'd suggest you pick a more believable form of flattery, sir."

"Forgive my language, but I'm shit at flattery. I've long admired you, Princess Mary. I remember, when I was eight, I came across a portrait of your mother. I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. When you came to your brother's coronation, to be honest, I was terrified. I was sure a ghost had come. Do you remember how Elizabeth accidentally pricked your finger with a needle when you were helping her with her sewing? That wasn't an accident, my lady. She got tired of me hiding under tables and behind curtains when you were near."

Mary laughs. "I don't remember the sewing incident, but I do remember you paling and diving under dressers and beds whenever I came to talk to Edward."

As the dance ends, he escorts her back to her seat. "While I'm in France, may I write to you, my lady?"

"I'd be happy to correspond with you, Mister Fitzpatrick," Mary agrees, inclining her head.

…

"I've never seen the boy so happy," one of the groomsmen says as he and Thomas Keyes secure the stables. "It does the heart good. I remember good old King Hal once gave him a Shetland pony. And the boy was grateful enough, but nothing anyone could give him seemed to bring real joy. Even Barnaby could only do so much."

"Aye," Thomas agrees. "Not a boy anymore, though, is he? He's in full power, now, and he's got a wife. Soon, there'll be a little prince or princess. Lady Mary's already determined this child will know how to climb trees and scale gates."'

"You might soon have a wife yourself, Tommy. She's almost at a marrying age, and she's got no cause to hold your unusual size and shape against you."

"No," Thomas says, a bit sadly. "If perhaps, her sister weren't Queen, I might see if she'd allow me to court her. As it is, if she ever marries, it'll be someone worthy of her noble blood and high-ranking station."

They finish up, and the groom says, "Lady Mary's a sweet girl, and nothing can be said against her character. But no matter how royal her blood and how high her family is, it doesn't change the fact she's a simple, deformed girl. Her sisters and mother should be happy any decent man with the means of providing for her would show an interest."

"I thank you for your kindness," Thomas says. "Goodnight, my friend."

"'Night, mate."

As he's walking to his cottage, Thomas feels something under his feet and automatically manages to prevent himself from falling. Leaning down, he picks up a tennis ball.

The sound of water causes him to jump, and then, looking over, he feels his heart constrict when the moonlight hits, showing what looks to be a body in the water. Without thinking, he runs towards the water, jumping in and swimming towards the body.

Grabbing them, he swims to shore and hauls them out, noticing it's a woman, lacking breath. Digging out his knife, he quickly cuts the dress in two, sliding it off. Then, he alternates between pounding her chest and squeezing her hips and stomach.

Coughing, she spew out water, gasping for breath, and Thomas whispers, "Thank you, God," as he crosses himself.

…

"You've never looked so beautiful," Edward says, reaching over to remove Jane's nightdress.

Smiling, she moves closer, placing her hand on his cheek.

A knock causes both of them to start.

Frowning, Edward says, "I shall chop off someone's head if this isn't a matter of life and death."

"Go on, my love," Jane says, grabbing her robe and slipping it on.

…

"Mother," Jane gasps.

In Jane's chambers, her mother lies on the floor in her undergarments, her eyes suggesting intoxication of some kind, as the ladies attend to her. She notices vaguely a wet Thomas Keyes is standing near the fire, her eyes more focused on the bruises on her mother's arms.

"Don't blame Thomas," Mary says, jumping up and rushing over. "He was securing the stables, and he found her drowning. He saved her, Jane!"

"Send for a physician. No one leaves the castle grounds," Edward says quietly to one of the guards. "Find Adrian Stokes and the Duke of Northumberland, immediately."

"Majesty, a physician has been sent for," one of the women interjects.

"I'm sorry, Lady Jane," Thomas says. "I don't know where her dress is."

"That doesn't matter. You saved my mother, and I am forever thankful. Was her chair nearby? Did she say anything?"

"When I was carrying her, she called out for 'Henry', Madam. I didn't see her chair anywhere, but I wasn't looking."

"Mother," Kat says, quietly, "what happened? Did you hurt yourself, or did someone do this to you?"


	12. Cycles of Life

"Mother," Jane says, softly, "will you please talk to me?"

Frances continues to stare into the fire, and Jane, worried the light will damage her eyes, carefully turns her head away. Giving no response, Frances stares blankly at the wall.

"There was a mild soothing potion in her system last night, Highness," the physician says. "It's gone, now, but the shock of whatever happened, as well as the extreme temperature of the water, has left her in this state. Perhaps, when her cold passes, she'll reorient herself mentally."

Nodding, Jane kisses her mother's hand, and then, stands up. "Did you find any other injuries on her, aside from the ones she received when Mr Keyes was saving her?"

"No, Highness. All her injuries are consistent with his story."

"Thank you, sir. If there's nothing else you can do, you may leave."

Nodding, he kisses her hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more." Bowing, he leaves.

Sighing, Katherine and Anne Marie come over and adjust the blankets around Frances. "Jane, sweetheart, go back to your husband," Kat says. "We'll look after her."

After taking a deep breath, Jane motions for Kat to come over. "I have no proof John Dudley is in away involved, but make sure he doesn't come near her until she reorients herself," she says, quietly. Then, bitterly, she adds, "Oh, if only that man would forever leave this court."

Kat kisses her cheek. "We'll take care of Mother," she promises.

…

"We found the dress, Majesties."

"Lead us," Edward orders, walking hand-in-hand with Jane.

They arrive, and Jane feels her stomach drop at the sight of the cut up dress. "That's her wedding dress," she says, dimly. "She didn't wear it to the wedding. She must have changed afterwards."

Kneeling down, she fingers it. The front and the sides of the dress are untouched by grass and dirt, and aside from the cuts the gatekeeper made, there's no tears.

"My love?"

Standing back up, she takes his hand, unwilling to voice her suspicions. "Has the chair been found?"

"No, Madam," one of the men answers. "My men are searching every chamber as we speak, and dogs are being used to try to locate on it on palace grounds. However, I must warn your majesties that- if Lady Grey's chair sunk into the water, it will be impossible for us to retrieve."

"Another one can be built," Edward says, kissing her hand.

"Yes," she agrees, a hand going to her stomach as she's faced with unwelcome, unrelenting thoughts.

…

"Is that all?"

Barnaby looks at John Dudley, signalling the men to leave. "For the moment, sir."

"For the moment?"

Shrugging, Barnaby says, "Sorry, your grace. The King may order further inspections. Personally, I think Lady Grey just got too close to the edge and accidentally fell in, but if that's not the case, it's better the rest of us be mildly inconvenienced and we find the would-be murder."

"Yes, of course," John says with a sigh.

"Good day, your grace."

…

"Mister Stokes?"

"Your lordship," Adrian answers. "I need to see your daughter-in-law."

"What," Lord Thomason, says, standing fully, "possible business could you have with her? She's a respectable widow with-"

"Sir, your daughter-in-law is pretty and of good character. I'm a sensible man, well aware of my low birth and lack of fortune. I assure you, I'm not trying to court her. I have business to discuss with her regarding the Queen, whose family I'm employed by and who she now serves."

"Father," Anne Marie says, "let him in."

Unhappily, Lord Thomason complies, shutting the door. To Anne Marie, he says, "I'll be in my bedchambers."

"Thank you, Father," she says, kissing his cheek.

Once he's gone, she motions for Adrian to sit. "Mister Stokes."

"My lady, Queen Jane has never held a high opinion of Lord Dudley. Nor it seems does your father-in-law."

"I plan to see him destroyed," Anne Marie replies, mildly. "My opinion of him is worse than my father's." Looking at him, she tilts her head slightly. "What's your grievance against him, sir?"

"Many things, my lady. I propose we work together."

"It is his involvement with your mistress?"

Sighing, Adrian shakes his head. "No, Madam, it's not. I know what kind of woman Lady Frances is, and I know what kind of man he is. Unless someone is being harmed, I make it a priority to not interfere with what people do in bed."

"Sir, I don't make it a habit of prying, but when it comes to plotting to destroy someone-"

"As long as he lives, my life is in danger," Adrian interrupts. "Simple self-preservation, my lady. I dislike him for many things, but my reason for moving against him is that I took his son, and since the state refused to take my life, he'll try to."

…

John Dudley looks, unsurprised, as Edward and Jane enter together, causing confusion in the rest of the council.

"My lords, Queen Jane will sit in this session," Edward says, as Jane curtsies to the men, and then, accepts the seat Edward offers.

One fool of a boy starts to open his mouth, but Lord Thomason, no fool despite John's dislike for him, firmly claps the boy on the shoulder and pushes him down into his seat.

"Sire," Lord Thomason says, "your policy of isolationism might not be feasible any longer. France believes we're a threat to Princess Mary of Scotland, and the Holy Roman Emperor is a threat to her." He hesitates. "Queen Jane, I ask you to forgive me. I don't say this as an insult to you. From what we've gathered, the emperor takes your marriage, sire, as a sign you plan to turn on him."

"Due to the dissolution of his betrothal to the Infanta of Aragon," Jane inquires, quietly.

"Madam," the lord answers, uneasily, in assent.

Turning, Jane says to Edward, "Should I write to him, my lord?"

Edward looks to the others. "Perhaps, if my wife and I wrote to him, that would assure him. If he tries to attack England, we will fight with everything we have; however, I don't wish to focus on the Scot Princess, France, or anyone else. The Reformation must be thoroughly spread through England, as well as strengthening education in commoners."

"I say we invite him," John says, speaking up. "I know your majesty is wary of treaties, but I suggest one be drawn up. You promise never to help his enemies so long as he makes no move against England, and we ask that he promise never to make a move against us unless we first make a move against him."

"Won't he try to protect the Pope with such a treaty?"

"He'll try, Highness," John answers, "and in response, we must be firm. If the vicar of Rome should move against us, we have every right to defend ourselves."

The meeting continues, and he can tell the others are alternatively impressed and bewildered by the girl's contribution. Well, Frances would never raise a fool; event the hunchback has her own set of cleverness.

"Majesty," Lord Thomason says, very carefully. "If you wish my lady," he says, nodding to Jane, "to be a part of deciding matters of state, I wouldn't suggest this right away, but perhaps, after your first child is born, she could be given the Crown Matrimonial?"

Jane makes no response, though John has the feeling she's literally biting her tongue.

"Why not now," Edward inquires, thoughtfully.

"Majesty- Queen Jane is currently your heir, and England has raised no objections. But the truth is, and let me assure you I don't hold this opinion, that if, God forbid you were to die before an heir was born, and she had the Crown Matrimonial, well, there would be questions. There would be people who whispered you were going to make someone else your heir, and she, knowing she'd automatically inherit if she held the Crown Matrimonial, had committed a most grievous sin before you could."

"He's right, sire," John speaks up. "If you have no objections to giving it to your Queen, I voice my support, but I always caution you to hold off until you and she have a child."

Edward looks at Jane.

"If you had no objections, I would accept it with honour," she answers, softly. "I also agree it would be best to wait, husband."

Smiling, he kisses her hand.

…

"God willing, I'll soon be given the Crown Matrimonial, Mother," Jane says, brushing a silent Frances's hair. "Edward and I will be able to make wonderful changes to this realm, making life better for all. And Kat is to be made a duchess and given her own household."

Sighing, Jane sets down the brush and kneels in front of her mother. "I wish you'd come back. Since our births, you've always wanted to see us rise, and you'd be happy, now. I'm Queen, Kat is to be a duchess in her own right, and Mary will never have to fear being thrown into a nunnery. We're working on finding an excellent match for Kat. Please, Mother, won't you come back?"

…

"Mister Fitzpatrick?"

"Hello, Lord Thomason," Barnaby says. "I believe your daughter-in-law and Mister Stokes are plotting the overthrowing of the Duke of Northumberland? Don't worry, I'm not here to stop them; I'm here to join the effort."

The lord sighs and opens the door fully. "Anne Marie, my dear child," he calls, closing the door as Barnaby enters, "if you get my head chopped off, you will be the one to go on monthly fishing trips with Harry, and I shall take pleasure in such scenes."

"Father," she inquires, appearing from the dining room. "Mister Fitzpatrick, does my lady need me?"

"No," Lord Thomason answers. "He's here about our mutual enemy, John Dudley. I'll be in my bedchambers if you need me, daughter."

Nodding, she kisses him goodnight and leads Barnaby to the dining room.

"Mister Stokes," Barnaby says, sitting down.

"Why are you here, sir?"

"Edward had me imprisoned in France," Barnaby answers, as Adrian pours all three of some ale. "When he believed he'd soon die, he gave an order for them to keep in that country. But I still received reports. One night, the Duke of Northumberland had a gypsy woman brought to the castle, into Edward's chambers; she was a well-known shop owner, and after that night, she vanished without a trace. Still, no one knows where she is. I talked to some gypsies in France, trying to find out why she might have been brought. Based on the symptoms I told them, they were firm he'd die soon. His living," Barnaby muses, "was a stroke of fate."

"It turns out," he continues, "arsenic, though the equivalent of torturing a person, can prolong a person's life if administered correctly. If the duke did that, I can find it in myself to forgive him, because Edward still lives and is no longer in pain. But that faceless woman, she haunts my dreams. Aside from not wanting a man who'd torture his prince to have such an honoured life, I want to give whatever justice can be given to her."

"I want my Queen to be happy," Anne Marie says. "The duke displeases her greatly, and if he is around for much longer, I fear it causing trouble in the royal marriage. She's yet to conceive, and I'm not sure the stress of having her rapist's cruel father around isn't to blame."

"As long as he lives, my life is in danger," Adrian says.

"Then, gentleman, we are united."

They raise their glasses.

"Now," Barnaby says, "I didn't find anything in his chambers when I searched it earlier, but if something mildly suspicious were to be found during my next inspection, the two of you might be able to convince Lady Jane to insist on his households being searched. As much as I hate to do such a thing, she worries constantly for Edward, and if she's convinced he might be a threat to him, she'll tear his households down with her own hands if need be."

…

"Plotting abounds again, my dear Thomas," Stephen says, crossing himself as he rises from the altar. "Married, now, a Queen of his own, the King has fully arrived, and so long as a court has a sovereign, there will be plotters. Usually, they're the young ones."

"The ones who don't die will be us," Thomas answers, sadly.

"There's a saying, no one sure where it comes from," Stephen answers, "that youth is wasted on the young. But that saying is wrong. Youth is wasting time, believing there's always tomorrow to chase dreams, it's taking the easy road, it's being cruel with the thought one can easily repent when they need to. It's pain over trivial things and scoffing at the important things. By definition, youth is a person's opportunity to be wasteful. The people who feel guilty over taking advantage of their youth are people who need forgive themselves and be happy in the wiser, moral people they've become, using that as a comfort for the pain of their ailing bodies."

"Forgiveness, especially of self, is often difficult," Thomas answers. "What's on your mind, Stephen?"

"Three months ago, my physician told me I had a tumour of the brain. It couldn't be removed without killing me instantly," he answers, grabbing Thomas's hand as his friend tries to storm out. "My death will come very soon, Thomas, I can feel it."

"So," Thomas says, angrily, "you wait until now to tell me."

"Yes. Listen, Thomas, you're a man of God. Now, for everything you've done against me, I freely forgive you. I don't ask you to return the favour, but I ask you to hear my last confession, fully. There's a chance you'll want to kill me yourself when I tell you certain things, but I'm begging you, as a man of God, to hear it fully, no matter how much I further anger you."

Sitting back down, Thomas shakes his head, covering his eyes. "And who shall hear mine? It's bad enough talking to Cromwell's portrait like a mad man, half expecting an answer I know I'll never receive, angry despite myself when I don't. Why not add you to my madness?"

"Please, my old friend."

Nodding, Thomas wipes his eyes. "I'm not retrieving anything; I can do this in my nightclothes as well I can dressed the part."

"Thank you," Gardiner answers, breathing out a sigh of relief. They cross themselves, and he says, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been six days since my last confession. To start with…"


	13. Yellow in a Sea of Black

Tears filling her eyes, the serving maid sighs and crosses herself.

On Bishop Gardiner's bed, he and Archbishop Cranmer lie, the archbishop's hand around Bishop Gardiner's wrist, thumb over the wrist veins. Looking closely at the unmoving chest, she knows waking the archbishop up will mean bringing him into a reality of having missed his friend's death despite being so close when it happened.

…

"Well, this is most inconvenient," Anne Marie grouses. "Everything must be put on hold. For all I disliked the man due to his movements against my mistress, it's not right to plot against someone during a period of death."

"I'd say plotting is fine, so long as the plot isn't fully carried out until afterward," Barnaby opines. "This might prove a golden opportunity. Doctor Shelton, the physician who was summoned for Lady Frances, will be performing the autopsy. If we can find out what soothing potion the marchioness had in her system the night of the attack, the King could receive an anonymous tip telling him he ought to have Dudley's quarters inspected, again. I could find the potion in there. It won't condemn him by any means, but with so many already suspecting him, it'll certainly help further turn the court against him."

Looking out the window, Adrian comments, "People die all the time. I don't see why this should in anyway halt our plans."

Putting a sympathetic hand on Adrian's shoulder, Barnaby promises, "He'll be gone soon enough."

…

"I'm sorry," Jane says, softly.

"Thank you, Majesty," Cranmer answers.

"Will you perform the funeral?"

"No, Madam," he answers. "I think it best a Catholic priest do so. And with you and your husband's permission, I know he'd want Princess Mary to give his eulogy."

"I'll talk to Edward," she promises.

…

"This is most inconvenient," Kat says, startling Anne Marie.

"Madam?"

"Others will use this against my sister Queen," Kat says. "Oh, how I wish our lady mother would regain her senses. How am I supposed to protect Jane from acts of God? Anne Marie, my lady, have you heard rumours?"

"Not about her majesty, no," Anne Marie says, carefully. "I have heard rumours about the causes behind Marchioness Grey's current circumstances."

"The Duke of Northumberland," Kat says, almost dismissively. "He's a cruel man, I have no doubt, but he hasn't gotten to where he is by not choosing his battles."

"Far be it for me to speak of things I know not of, but as you say, your mother is her majesty's greatest defence."

Kat sighs. "Well, Jane is on top of the world, now. Soon, she'll give our cousin a healthy heir; it need not even be a boy. And then, she'll do as our lady mother has done and destroy all those who are a threat to her children. Has my sister shown signs?"

"Not to my knowledge," Anne Marie answers, standing and curtseying as Mary slips in. "Lady Grey."

"Hello, Lady Anne Marie," Mary answers. "Kat, Nurse won't let me go riding with Mister Keyes without your permission. We'll have servants, of course, and be back before night."

Kat simply looks at her for a long moment. "You and Mister Keyes are getting awfully close."

"Kat, he's a kind man, and a good friend," Mary says, frowning.

"Very well, sweetling," Kat says. "Provided Adrian agrees to go, as well."

"Thank you, sister," Mary says, curtseying. "I'll go ask him. Good day to you, Lady Anne Marie."

"You as well," Anne Marie answers as she returns the curtsey.

Once Mary's gone, Anne Marie notes, "It'd be a good match."

"For him, I'm sure marrying a Tudor princess would be," Kat answers. "And if it turns out he's not as gentle-souled as he appears, it'll either be sending her off to show expensive nunnery or for people to be after Jane and the King for his suspicious imprisonment or death."

Sighing, she stretches her neck, trying to remove the tension. "I'm going to see my sister Queen; make sure to periodically check on my mother."

"Yes, my lady."

…

"What a ghastly dress," Elizabeth declares. "Are you not the daughter of Catalina of Aragon, the Spanish princess so fond of her heritage? Why are you not wearing yellow, sister?"

"Your mother wore yellow when my mother died," Mary retorts. "And Catherine of Aragon was Queen of England, loyal to it and her rightful husband, who may have been a King but was also an Englishman."

"As you say," Elizabeth answers. "Mary, please, I don't wish to fight. Whatever my personal feelings towards Gardiner, he was loyal and loving towards you, and I think he'd prefer you vibrant and healthy in beautiful yellow than pale and pasty in dreary black."

"I'm sure you'd much prefer anything that makes me look the outcast. Yellow in a sea of black, just as your mother was."

"I sometimes wonder why I even bother," Elizabeth answers with a sigh. "When I was a child, you were so affectionate; sometimes, too affectionate for my tastes. Now, you pouring salt in my wounds are the return to every effort I make. I loved my mother, Mary, and I won't deny it. I wasn't there when she was taking up with our father, and I was very young when she was called Queen. I never met nor spoke ill of your mother. Some call me bastard, and some call you one, and some label us both as such. Yet, I don't let labels dictate whom is deserving of love. Whether you wish to accept it, King Hal was my father as much as yours, and I forever call you my sister."

"Prettied words," Mary answers, "but the truth of the matter is, my paternity has never been in question. My legitimacy, yes, but not my paternity. My mother was a chaste, honourable woman who never gave cause for anyone to suspect adultery, and any accusations could even now be easily disproven. If you denounce me as you as your sister, you denounce King Henry the Eight as your father, label your mother a fornicator, and declare yourself a bastard."

"Very well," Elizabeth answers, calmly. "I shall try no more. I'd rather be accused of all that than of being so insincere I'd pretend to love in order to safeguard my own interests. Good day, your grace."

With that she leaves as Mary protests, "Elizabeth."

…

"Where's Mary?"

"She and Mister Stokes are riding with Mister Keyes."

Jane nods, watching as Elizabeth, dressed in a simple yellow dress, her Tudor hair uncovered, greets Edward. "Make sure someone is properly watching Mother."

As Kat leaves, Princess Mary, dressed in a black dress with teardrop pearls, approaches, her hair hidden beneath a solid black snood. Jane hopes the outfit rather than sickness is responsible for the Princess's pallid skin and bony appearance. "Majesty," Mary says, curtseying and kissing her hand. "I thank you and our dear brother most humbly and gratefully for allowing me to deliver Bishop Gardiner's eulogy."

"Of course," Jane answers. "I'm very sorry for your loss, your grace."

"I thank you; if you'll excuse me."

Nodding, Jane watches as the Princess goes to talk to a big, burly man with auburn-blond hair.

…

"My lady," Barnaby says after the funeral, kissing Princess Mary's hand. "Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you," Mary answers. "How are you, sir?"

"Ever happy, even in sad times such as these," he answers, sitting down. As Cranmer passes by, causing her to tense, he gives her a sad smile. "You do have friends here, my lady. I don't just mean politically, though I'm sure you do have that sort. In all honesty, I'd never willing let anyone but Edward or his appointed heirs sit on the throne. But you do have people who care about you."

She scoffs, though not angrily. "I must have been absent when we got to know one another, Mister Barnaby."

Shrugging, Barnaby gives her an easy grin. "You're a passionate, intelligent woman, Madam, full of beauty and grace, and from what I've seen you have a kind heart. I don't need to know someone to see such qualities."

"I'm not sure whether this is intentional flattery or if you truly don't stop to think how what you say sounds," Mary comments, a smile appearing despite her efforts to the contrary.

"Oh, I never stop to consider such things," Barnaby answers. "It's a waste of time, if you ask me. If I die young due to my words, at least, I'll die under no cloak of pretence."

"Really," Mary says, looking at him in consideration. "From what I've heard, you wear such a cloak around the Duke of Northumberland."

"I don't make it a secret of my distrust for him, Madam," he answers, eyes scanning the room. "I have my doubts he was behind Marchioness Grey's predicament. However, if there were evidence, no matter how credulous, that he was, I would certainly try to get the King and Queen to neutralise him."

"Talk to Master Cecil," she orders. "When I was trying to figure out if my brother was still alive or not, he came and warned me of a plot to place my sister-in-law on the throne by illegally imprisoning me. As far as I can tell, her majesty was truly ignorant of what was being attempted on her behalf. The heretic's objection was that my brother was mentally incompetent due to the illness to make such decisions, and as such, King Henry's will must be honoured above his."

Awestruck, Barnaby breathes out, "Thank you, my lady."

"I must excuse myself," Mary informs him, standing. "But I shall look forward to your letters from France."

"Yes, Madam," Barnaby answers as he jumps up and kisses her hand.

…

"Hello, my love," Edward says, kissing Jane.

"Hello, Edward," she says, smiling and moving closer to him. "What next?"

"Thomas Wynter has come," he answers, "and Archbishop Cranmer wishes to introduce him."

They excuse themselves from the feast and go to the throne room.

When Cranmer and Wynter arrive, Jane sees he's the man who talked to Princess Mary earlier.

Silently, he sinks to the floor.

"Rise, Mister Wynter," Edward says, taking Jane's hand as they stand. "You are most welcome at our court. I was most pleased by your pamphlet regarding my new Queen."

"Majesties," he says, rising and bowing. He kisses their hands. "I'm beyond honoured to be invited, though obviously sorry it was under such circumstances."

"Walk with us, Mister Wynter," Edward says. "My wife is very interested in debating you."

"Yes," Jane says. "I've read your treatise on different forms of baptism, and I was curious about what you meant when you wrote that…"


	14. Key to the Rose

"People are starting to talk, sire."

Edward sighs, bitterly. "Yes, I know. Are you one of them, John?"

"I strongly pushed for the marriage," the duke answers. "Lady Frances has had three strong, living children. Two of them are rather pretty, as a girl should be. I'd thought the Queen's lack of conception with my son was due to the unhappiness within their marriage."

"If need be, Lady Katherine or Mary's children can take the throne," Edward answers in frustration. "I am not my father, John. Jane is the love of my life, and I shan't toss that away simply because children don't come."

"I haven't suggested you do so. I merely warn you to strengthen yourself and have your bride do the same, your Majesty. It'd be best to find Lady Kat a husband as soon as possible. There have been poems of Lady Mary and that gatekeeper circulating court. Frances would hate such a match, but I don't think Queen Jane would object to it. While Lady Mary will never be a serious contender for the throne, if she were able to have a strong son, well, even if he was somewhat physically deformed, his Tudor blood, intelligence, and good character could solve everything."

Nodding, Edward stands. "As always, I thank you for your advice, my dear duke."

The Duke of Northumberland nods.

Once the middle Grey is gone, it should be easy enough to have Thomason's daughter-in-law removed from court; if need be, Thomason himself can be removed. The duke knows the Queen is worried for Strokes' safety, uneasy at his remaining presence at court. As soon as one of her sisters marries, she'll send him to watch over them. He'll be much easier to kill, then. And with his strongest allies gone, Barnaby Fitzpatrick will retreat to France as planned, giving John time to engineer his downfall.

Bowing, he waits until Edward is out of sight to allow himself a brief smile. He's destroyed far too many to be brought down by some snot-nosed brats. With the exception of Fitzpatrick, they're all new to the court, having no idea how to truly play. If it weren't him they were trying to go after, he'd find it amusing, their flailing, childish attempts at plotting.

…

"He bought her a dress," Jane repeats.

"I compensated him," Eleanor assures her.

Jane briefly looks down at her translations. She knows their nurse has long been an advocate of finding Mary a proper husband. "Does my sister return this man's affections?"

"I'm not sure, your grace," Eleanor answers. "But he has no obvious vices, and in addition to his loyal service to your dead father-in-law, his grandfather fought with your husband's great-grandfather and grandfather."

"I'll talk to him," Jane says. "And if I find his responses satisfactory, I shall talk to Mary."

She looks over at her still blank-faced mother. This should be your job, she thinks, tiredly. If you ever come back, don't you dare blame me, Mother, if you don't like what's been done.

There's guilt at the thought, but she stands by it. Jane has to do as best she can for her family, and if that means allowing her sister to marry someone their mother considers inferior, then so be it.

…

"That's a beautiful scarf, cousin," Edward says, sitting down next to Mary.

She gives him a brief smile. "You mustn't tell anyone, your majesty," she whispers. "It's an anonymous gift."

"Oh, why anonymous?"

"I've heard the rumours," she answers, quietly, continuing her sewing. "About Mister Keyes and I."

"The scarf is for him."

She nods. "He refuses to buy a new one, and this way, if he finds out who it's from, he can't insist on repaying me."

Edward sighs. He's never told Jane, but her youngest sister has always made him uneasy.

It isn't her deformities. He's known plenty of good men and women suffering from physical defects and has never felt uneasy.

No, what makes him apprehensive is a sense that, behind her quiet, somewhat guileless presentation, she hides a cunning side. What her true goals and ambitions are, however, is unknown. If he's right, then, she's better than her mother, father, and the Duke of Northumberland.

"How do you find the gatekeeper, Lady Mary?"

"He's my closest friend," she answers. Before he can respond, she looks at him. "Never put friends above family, I've heard. And I shan't."

"Lady Mary, if you and Mister Keyes wish to make a love match-"

"Forgive me for interrupting, sire," she says, politely, "but my lady mother will recover. When she does, if she finds me married to a simple gatekeeper, she will be furious. I've always tried to be a dutiful daughter."

That's a true enough statement from all he's seen, and suddenly, he feels a sense of pity as he watches her adjust her thimble. He remembers the hat she made him and the pieces of embroidery she easily gives to the servants, some for them to sell, some as a simple gift of sentiment. The scarf is strong and heavy, detailed keys of different sizes, shapes, and colours sewn in prominent; it could be sold for a decent amount of money, but it's also plain to see that much thought and sentiment went into the design choices.

"What's that," he inquires, noticing an odd-shaped rose.

"A rose, your majesty," she answers. "It's closed."

Carefully, she turns the scarf over.

Between a _T_ and _K _is a proper rose, opened.

…

"You're rather fond of my sister," Jane says, as she and Thomas Keyes walk, her ladies a discreet distance behind them.

"Yes, your grace," he answers. "Lady Mary is my closest friend."

"Do you mean to marry her?"

"No, Madam."

"No?"

"I'd certainly like to, your grace, but your sister has made it clear she won't consent to such a match."

Jane tries to figure out how to respond. "Do you know the reason behind that, Mister Keyes?"

"Out of the three of you, your highness, she's the most- I mean to say, she's the most emotionally dependent on Lady Frances, your grace. Neither of us believe Lady Frances would accept such a match, and forgive me, but if Lady Frances never recovers, Lady Mary will die believing it's still only a matter of time."

Jane sighs. From what she's seen and heard, Thomas Keyes is a good man, and she finds herself believing he's in love with Mary. If Mary returns such feelings, she must convince her sister to consent to the match.

Queen or not, she'd never order such a thing of either sister, but she will use other methods if need be.

…

Frances opens her eyes.

"My lady," one of the serving girls says, curtsying.

She gives no reaction, and the girl goes back to cleaning the apartment.

"No better," another answers, peering at Frances.

"No," the first answers. "Poor Mister Stokes. He lights candle after candle for her."

"You mean the two of you aren't," there's a significant pause, making it clear what she's silently asking.

"I've offered, and he was very kind in turning me down," she answers. "But it's clear he aims much too high."

"Some say the same about her majesty," the other answers, quietly. "I've heard that she's been bribing council members and, perhaps, even Barnaby, to get the Crown Matrimonial right away. She knows that any able woman would have conceived by now. For her sake, she'd better hope her sisters don't turn against her once they have sons. If he gets tired of her, King Edward will have more cause than his father did to get rid of her."


	15. Snakes in the Grass

"What shall I do?"

Doctor Ascham sighs. "My lady, sometimes these things take time; it took Lady Blount eight years to conceive a child."

"Edward and I don't eight years," she answers, almost in tears. "The King doesn't have eight years."

"Do you fear-" He pauses.

"I don't wish to insult you, sir, but I fear a Catholic majority taking hold. Princess Mary has several foreign princes vying for her hand; if she goes against the council and marries one of them, if she delivers a child, especially a boy, she could take it. Princess Elisabeth- No one knows where her true heart lies. If she manages to obtain my husband's throne-" Shaking her head, she breaks off, biting her lip.

Reaching over, Doctor Ashcam takes her hand, kissing it. "My lady, you are King Edward's heir; after you is your middle sister, and any children of hers. Then, any children of your youngest sister. Several ambassadors have expressed an interest in the former, and the whole court knows of Lady Mary's unofficial courtship by Mister Keyes. The succession will hold."

"My marriage may not," Jane whispers, looking down at her shaking head. "God is all I need, but I confess I- if Edward wishes me to take the veil, I'll find a Reformist nunnery and do so."

"I swear to you, it will not come to that."

She shakes her head, unable to stop the tears. "You're not an unrealistic man, Doctor Ascham. Edward isn't his father, but the truth is, he does need an heir. More than King Henry ever did, for he doesn't even have one girl. No children at all, legitimate or otherwise. Unlike Catalina of Aragon, God has not insisted my place is as his wife."

"Has he not?"

"No," she answers, wiping her eyes. "No. I thought of him when I was first bedded by Guilford, God forgive me. I thought of all the Infanta would have that I never would when he was engaged to her. His smile directed only toward her, his laugh the others rarely hear, his touch, his presence steady next to her at night. I remember when I was a smile child, and I first met him; I didn't understand what him being a prince truly meant. He took my hand, and we spun together in the garden, chanting as we looked up at the sky and trees. When we feel down, lying next to one another, I knew then that I wanted to marry the boy next to me. But all that simply means a young woman with a girl's heart fell in love, perhaps foolishly."

"Lady Jane, Edward came back to life by God's will. He regained his health by God's will. Everything else, your scheming family, your first marriage to a villainous man, his mistreatment of you and his death, everything has been God's pen making strokes. I once thought you were fated to take Edward's throne, but I was wrong. You were meant to share it with him. By God, your place is as his wife."

"I can only pray you're right," she answers, hands going down to her flat stomach.

…

"How are you finding court, Mister Wynter," Hans inquires as he sketches.

"Very well, Master Holbein, thank you," Thomas answers. "The King and Queen are even more wonderful than I had imagined. Though, I am puzzled by their commission of a portrait of me."

"They believe you might become a large voice in the kingdom," Hans answers. "I've already done portraits of the other Grey ladies, and I'm working on a portrait of the King and Queen as man and wife."

He doesn't mention the one he's already done of Adrian Stokes, unknown by the man. He's done many unknown portraits, safely hidden away. All of King Henry's wives and children, Bessie Blount and her husband, Thomas Culpepper, Doctor Ascham, three of Queen Jane Grey's ladies, and many more.

"With God's grace, you'll be painting one of the newest princess or princeling soon," Thomas comments.

"That's one of my greatest desires," Hans answers, setting his supplies down. "That's all, for now. Please, return at the same time tomorrow."

…

"You killed my son."

Adrian looks up from the grass he's twirling in his fingers. Nearby, Lady Mary's favourite horse is taking a bath in the river. "Aye," he answers, neutrally. "And I don't know whether you tried to drown Lady Frances or simply helped her in what she'd decided, but I know you were involved in her being in this water. I also know, sir, that you're planning to have a certain man framed when he returns to court in order to prevent King Edward from believing his testimony of what you tried to do while the King laid dying. No matter to me and my allies, however."

"What makes you so confident, Stokes? You don't hold Frances's affection, and given the right motivation, all her girls will turn on you."

"Confident, my lord?" Shaking his head, Adrian stands. "Do you think that's what's kept me alive? I could fail at any moment, die at any moment, and I'm acutely aware of this. I fear such things happening, but at the same time, what really do I have to lose? Nothing important, sir. Oh, I'm fond of Lady Mary, but a simple, deformed girl? No great loss, there. I admire Lady Frances, because she and I are both snakes in the grass. Everyone and everything is disposable given the right push."

"Do you want to know the real reason I killed your son, your grace? It wasn't because he insulted my mistress or her family. It wasn't because of what he'd done to Lady Jane. I did it because I had hoped to blackmail his widow once she became Queen. Once she had delivered a son, having gained everything and thus having everything to lose, I planned to threaten to cause a scandal by claiming she and her family had directed me to kill him once they saw how difficult Gardiner was making things. Unfortunately, your son truly died for nothing due to that witness coming forward before the two where even properly engaged."

"Treason," John hisses, fists clenching.

"Accuse me," Adrian responds. "Accuse me, your grace. I killed Queen Jane's rapist, I stayed with the Queen's mother during a plague, and all through my imprisonment and trial, I repeatedly invoked God as my judge, never once even hinting I'd done the deed on the orders of any Grey. In fact, I vehemently denied it, insisting I was driven by myself alone. And you may be a valued adviser, but everyone in court, including the King, has heard whispers of your snakish behaviour. So, accuse me, your grace, and let us see which man will be left standing. Which is of is the better snake?"

John walks away.

Once he's gone, Adrian collapses back onto to the ground, sighing when the horse comes over, nuzzling him.

…

"Will my sister live?"

"I believe so, your grace," the physician answers. "There's always a risk when fevers come, but Princess Mary has withstood stronger than this. With God's blessing, it will quickly break."

Nodding, Elizabeth crosses herself. "Thank you. I shall be in her chapel."

"Your grace," he says, bowing.

They depart, going separate ways. Once she hears the door to the outside close, however, she stops her slow steps, turns, and upon seeing no one around, sprints back to her sister's room, pressing a handkerchief over her mouth and nose.

Once inside, she looks down at her sweating, twitching sister. Fumbling inside her pockets, she eventually withdraws a vial, bringing it up, past the handkerchief so that she can bite the lid off. Carefully, she sprinkles the clear liquid on Mary's face.

…

"Hello, my love," Jane says that night, kissing Edward. "I've just been told Barnaby's ordered a special midnight mass; what for? Is everything well with him?"

Sighing, Edward squeezes her hand, and then, motions to a letter. "My eldest sister has come down with a fever."

Crossing herself, Jane says, "I'm so sorry, Edward. Is there anything to be done?"

"No," he answers, reaching over to pull her onto his lap. "Elizabeth writes that the physician is hopeful. She's staying in Mary's household and praying for her swift recovery. How is your mother?"

"The same," Jane answers, sadly. "She was looking at my grandfather's portrait earlier today; I can only hope that means she might soon return."

Edward kisses her neck, fingers playing through her hair. "This might not be the best time," he starts, carefully, "but I think perhaps, we should discuss our lack of children."

"Yes," she agrees, closing her eyes and pressing tighter against him. "The midwives refuse to say it, but I can tell what they think. It's becoming more and more obvious my womb is unlikely to be planted."

"It might be my fault," Edward says, almost inaudibly.

"Edward," she says, opening her eyes and looking at him. "No. Your father had children, and so shall you." She swallows. "Even if it's not with me."

"Jane," he says, firmly, "I will never displace you." Then, glumly, he continues, "I almost died, and though my life was restored, the illness that almost took me could have taken my ability to give a woman, to give you, children. We don't know. You've only been with me and Guildford. You were only with him a handful of times, and each time, he brutalised you; that in addition to his constant drinking could have been to blame for your lack of pregnancy."

"Then, what can we do," she inquires, helplessly. "If that's true, neither of us will ever have a child."

"You still could," he answers. "You're the granddaughter of Queen Mary, the grandniece of my father."

Shaking her head, she wraps her arms around his neck. "No. No, Edward. You may think such a thing freeing, but you aren't going to find a way to dissolve our union and marry me to someone else, making my children with them your heirs. I take you and God as my only husbands."

"That isn't what I was considering," he tells her, stroking her hair. When she's relaxed, he steels himself and says, "What if, Jane, another man were to help you have a baby?"

She draws back, looking at him in confusion. "Do you think a doctor can do more than the midwives can?"

"I mean," he hesitates, "what if you conceived the child of another man while keeping me as your husband?"

It takes a moment for his words to truly set in, and when they do, she jumps in horror, crossing herself as tears form, and runs from the room.

…

Inhabitants of the castle watch in bewilderment as Queen Jane storms through the halls in only her nightdress, sobbing, while King Edward watches his wife helplessly from their bedroom door.

Almost instantly, Lady Katherine and the other ladies of the Queen, also in sleeping garments, appear, surrounding the Queen and gently but firmly guiding her to her chambers, Lady Katherine shooting one look back at the King.

Once Jane is in bed, Kat and a sleeping Mary on either side of her, and three ladies lying on cots surrounding the bed, Kat whispers, quietly, "Do you wish to talk about it, sister?"

Shaking her head, Jane simply tries to control her shaking body and the sobs that threaten to burst loudly from her body.


	16. Vows and Recovery

"But, sister, you always eat with Edward," Kat protests.

"And this morning, I shan't," Jane answers. "Am I not the Queen, able to take my meals where I wish?"

"Of course, Madam," Kat answers, unhappily, as she curtsies. "Jean, go tell the servers to bring her majesty's breakfast to her apartment this morning."

…

"What could you and Lady Jane have fought about," Barnaby inquires, stealing a piece of bread from Edward's plate. "It wasn't about religion, was it? Or worse, about your families?"

"No," Edward answers. "As an unmarried man, it's not something you'd understand, but I promise you, all will be well."

"Was it about children, then," Barnaby ventures.

"Leave it be, Barnaby," Edward insists. "All shall be better soon."

Sighing, Barnaby complies, briefly stealing Edward's goblet, as well.

…

"I think it best your lady mother receives some fresh air," John tells a sceptical Kat and distracted Jane.

"Yes, very well," Jane says, looking down her papers. "Please, have some guards nearby and be very careful in how you push the chair; it's newly designed and might need to modified somewhat."

"Majesty," he says, bowing.

While he's busy securing Frances in her chair, Kat says, quietly, keeping an eye on her sister, "If you harm my mother, your body won't be recognisable once it's found, sir."

"My lady," he says, politely, forcing himself not to speak his mind.

Katherine Grey has little love for Frances, and her elder sister has less. The only one who would truly mourn Frances is the hunchback. The middle Grey has become ever more uppity since her sister's ascension.

He leaves, the guards following at a discreet distance, and once he finds a secluded place in the gardens, he stops and kneels down, kissing her hand. "Frances," he says, quietly, "if you're there, I feel the need to tell you something important about Adrian Stokes. It involves your daughters and the King."

…

Jane crosses herself and rises from prayer. As the other ladies do as well, she says, "I'll see my husband, now."

"Will you be alright, sister," Mary inquires, nervously. "We can go with you."

Shaking head, Jane kisses her on the forehead. "Enjoy riding with Adrian and Mister Keyes, dear. I'll be fine."

She leaves, the others following. Once she gets to Edward's room, she enters and closes the door, curtsying.

"Jane," he says, quietly.

"How could you say such a thing? To even think, never mind suggest it."

Standing up, he walks over and gently touches her cheek. "Jane, I need an heir. I don't like how my father handled things, but he wasn't wrong in the necessity of having one. If I weren't King- I need an heir. How else do you suppose I get one? As you've said before, I'm not my father."

Trying to hold back her tears, she says, "And this is how you want to solve things? You want me to lie with another man and conceive a bastard?" Shaking, she reaches out to touch him. "I kneeled in front of God, Archbishop Cranmer, and witnesses. As God is and was my witness, I took you as my husband, to love, honour, cherish, and obey until death did part us. You slipped a ring onto my finger, and I did likewise. I've never wanted anyone else to see my naked form, to touch my most private places, to press themselves inside of me. Never, Edward. Not before I was engaged, not before I was married to Guildford, not when I was married to him and he did those things to me, and certainly not now that I've experienced such desires."

"Jane-"

"I made a vow to be faithful. As a Christian, I have a duty to be honest. I may be Queen, but I'm also a citizen, and this preposterous, insulting, hurtful suggestion is treason!"

He sighs and withdraws his hand. "Who says Kings can't adopt? No one need know. Jane, if you did this, I swear I would never let anyone know. It would be our child."

"No," she says. "No. I obey God above you, husband."

"What suggestion do you have? If I die, if you die, people will rally around Mary or Elizabeth before they will the children of your sisters."

"You could take a mistress," she answers, her voice breaking.

"Oh, it's acceptable for me to break such vows. For another woman to touch me, to envelop me, that wouldn't go against my dreams. I've lusted after others, Jane, I won't lie, but I fell in love with you, and since that night you stayed with me, I've never desired another. A child with a mistress, assuming it's not me with the problem, wouldn't be the child I wanted. Taking a mistress, having a child with her, that would dishonour you, just as it dishonoured all of my father's wives."

"And how would this not?"

"Because," he answers, quietly, "you would be doing this to give your husband a child, your King an heir. If you had a baby, it would be ours. The man who planted the seed, he wouldn't matter. You're my wife, and that gives me a claim to any children of yours. It wouldn't be treason, Jane. The Act of Succession clearly states that your children by me or simply from your body are next in line. It doesn't matter if they're legitimate. But this child would be. It would be ours."

"I would be committing adultery. I would be denying a man the child of his seed. I would be lying to everyone. Most of all, I would be letting yet another man use my body against my will."

He sighs. "Jane, do you think I like the thought of another man doing such a thing? I hope I'd never deny a woman her life, but if I discovered a wife of mine had committed adultery, I would find a way to end the marriage. This would be different. I'd know what you were doing and why."

"I can't believe you would-"

"I need an heir, Jane," he says, simply. "Whether it's your fault, mine, or both of ours, I think it's become rather obvious no child will be conceived between us. We can love a child, provide them a safe home, a wonderful education, try to teach them kindness and justice. Or we can live in fear of a revolt. I can take a mistress, as my father did and many other kings do, and I can suffer the hurt in your eyes. I can suffer the guilt of wondering if I just used a woman's body against her will. If a child comes, it can know that its father betrayed his wife, that he made a whore of its mother, that it was conceived not out of love but out of a desperate man breaking his vows. No matter what, I shan't displace you, Jane, and if you try to remove yourself, I will fight."

Going to the bed, she lies down, hiding her face in the pillows as she cries.

Sighing, Edward walks over and lies down beside her, pulling her close to him. "I've always hated to see you cry," he says, quietly.

"Suggesting I take another man to my bed isn't a good way of preventing tears."

She feels him kiss the back of her head.

…

"Shouldn't you have left for France a week ago, Mister Fitzpatrick?"

Barnaby looks up from his book of prayers. "Yes, your grace, but with everything that's happened- Lady Frances's misfortune, your friend's death, and now, Princess Mary's illness, I've postponed the trip indefinitely."

Nodding, Cranmer sits down. "I've heard rumours of the Queen leaving his majesty's chambers in the middle of the night."

"Yes," Barnaby answers. "I witnessed it myself. He's insisted all will be well, and I pray to God he's right. But then," he adds, heavily, "I've been praying to God significantly, lately."

"Princess Mary is a strong woman," Cranmer says, quietly. "So strong I fear for myself if she ever comes into power. Nevertheless, I keep her in my prayers, as well. Foolish as it is to speak of God's will, I don't believe it's time for her to depart from this Earth."

"I pray not," Barnaby replies. "They call her fanatic, which I'll admit to seeing, but she's an amazing woman, Archbishop. If I wasn't looked upon fondly, especially those I care for, I wouldn't survive. Yet, her father treated her in a way no daughter should be treated, she was denied her mother, mistreated by Queen Boleyn, and her relationship with Edward and Princess Elizabeth is often strained. She's never lost herself, not fully, at least."

Cranmer sighs and puts an arm around Barnaby's shoulders.

…

"Hello, Mother," Jane says, curtseying. "Did you enjoy your walk with the Duke of Northumberland?"

"The guards told me that all was well," Kat answers. "You and Edward will be eating together?"

"Yes," Edward answers, appearing. "Lady Kat," he greets.

"Majesty," she answers, curtseying. "Mary-"

Her words are cut off by a strangled sound, followed by Frances's body falling off the couch and hitting the floor.

"Mother!" The three Grey sisters cry, rushing over.

"What-" Frances looks around, wildly. "I'm inside. Jane, there was a violent white horse. You must do something about it. What. Is it still- Has it been caught?"

"Mother," Mary says, pushing the other two back and grabbing Frances's hand. She tells her the date. "Thomas- Mister Keyes, the groundskeeper, found you drowning. Was it a horse that made you fall?"

"Yes," Frances answers, shivering. "I went to toss coins in the water, in thanks for your sister's marriage, and suddenly, a brute of a horse, white in the moonlight appeared, running erratically. He kicked the chair, and now, I'm here."

"Mister Keyes did make a report the day before the wedding that one of the horses had escaped," Edward speaks up, startling Frances, who bows her head. "Everyone was sure it had gone too deep into the nearby forests to ever be caught."

"I must tell Adrian," Mary says, kissing her mother's hand. "He'll be so relieved."

"I imagine John will be, too," Edward says, placing a hand on Jane's. "Are you alright, my love?"

"I'm just incredibly grateful to have my lady mother restored," she answers.

…

Later, Jane asks, "Mother, are you sure you wish to go back home?"

"Yes," Frances answers, watching as the servants pack. "It's been far too long. Adrian will look after me."

"Yes, Madam," Adrian answers. "I'll go check to make sure the best horses are being used for the ride."

"I'll walk with you, Mister Stokes," Jane says.

After they've left, Jane takes a steadying breath, "Sir, I'm not sure how to say this-"

"Your grace, I don't know if I believe her story, either," he interrupts. "My mind went to the same horrible place as yours when this first happened. But I swear to you, on my life and soul, I will try to keep her from all harm."

"Try to keep the Duke of Northumberland away," she tells him.

"Yes, Madam. Forgive me, but has he been causing trouble in your marriage?"

"The lack of children has been," she answers, tiredly. "Though, he certainly hasn't helped, always going on about the need of an heir."

"I'd never wish an unwanted child on anyone, but I'd say he should blame his son for that," Adrian comments.

"Why, sir?"

"Well, if you'd had a child with the Dudley boy, there's no doubt in my mind he or she would be the King's child," Adrian answers. "King Henry loved Princess Elizabeth despite his often insistence that Sir Norris was her true father. Your lady-in-waiting, Anne Marie, I can't speak for her deceased husband, but Lord Thomason certainly claims her boy as his grandson. Often, if a person marries a widow or widower, they can't help but love the person's children as their own."

Jane has a memory of Catherine Parr singing to her and Princess Elizabeth, as she sewed clothing for Edward and Princess Mary. The kind Queen always made her feel so loved, and she knows it was the same for Edward and Elizabeth, knows the woman wished it were also true for the eldest of the Tudor children.

Sighing, she says, "I suppose so. Unfortunately, there's no way for that, now."

"Perhaps, the duke won't be much of a problem much longer," he suggests.

"Don't go near him, Adrian," she orders, drawing herself up. "My mother needs you now more than ever. I can't condemn you for what you did to Guildford, though I don't know what that says about my character. Now, you've been spared, and you've always cared about my mother and youngest sister. Be there for them."

"Yes, Madam," he answers, kissing her hand.

…

_You could have a child. _

_You could have a child. _

_A child. _

_Have a child. _

Jane tosses in her sleep, blurrily watching a little girl running through the gardens, a little boy grinning up at her.

_You could have a child. _

Edward appears, easily swooping the girl up and sitting down next to the boy, laughing.

_Have a child, Jane. Give him a child. You could have a child. _

She wakes up crying, her heart heavy and her stomach clenching.


	17. Promise

"The streets are filled with dissatisfaction," the healer tells him. "After the wedding, thy mistress was rendered mute and nearly drowned. There's been no coronation and no heir. King Hal was a charismatic man, and this King lacks that."

"That isn't what I need to talk to you about."

"I know," she answers. "But it's something thee should know, should the first targeted be thy mistress. Everyone knows how strict she was, and some are blaming her daughter's lack of fertility on her mistreatment."

Adrian sighs. "Well, so be it," he mutters. "When the King was dying, there were rumours a gypsy woman was brought in to prolong his life with arsenic. If she existed, she vanished completely shortly after."

She shakes her head. "Thou are too easy to read."

"I don't care whether I am or not."

"Lie," she retorts, calmly. "Thee want everyone to be wary of thee. But expose a person to fire, and their true self appears."

"I've never believed that," he answers. "Expose a person to fire, and all you'll see is whether they're strong enough to survive or not."

"Thou has already been exposed."

Shrugging, Adrian remembers the fear and disgust in the Duke of Northumberland's eyes. He's more determined than ever to kill Adrian, now, but hopefully, he'll be so careful or reckless in doing so that Adrian will come out alive. John Dudley lost his boy, and he's the type who'd blackmail a Queen; now, he thinks he understand exactly what his enemy is, what type of man he's dealing with.

Adrian, even if he wanted to harm Jane Grey more than she's already been harmed, wouldn't do such a thing. Flighty Kat would be caught in the middle, as would sweet little Mary. Now that her husband, a man to kill his enemies swiftly, is gone, Frances would murder him via slow disembowelment or long lasting poison.

"Her name was Magadha," she tells him. "Her body might have been burned, for it's yet to be found. The Romani are not greedy as the belief goes, but for every untrue belief about a group of people, there's one person who fits it. She was a greedy, amoral woman. She knew not to go, knew her kin and allies would warn against it, but she went."

"How did he survive? He was dying, and the arsenic may have prolonged his life, but-"

"Sometimes, nature surprises man," she answers. "I'm not very spiritual, but I'm sure many people believe it was the result of destiny."

"There's one person I don't want to be wary of me."

"Thy hunchback daughter."

"Lady Mary isn't my daughter," he snaps. "Her mother may be many things, but-"

"I don't accuse people of adultery," she interrupts. "Blood or not, she's thy child. Her mother and father don't claim her, and her sisters are her sisters. Thy have been exposed," she repeats. "When thee first came to me, thee said, 'My mistress has three children, and one of them is as innocent as a babe; she can't survive without her.'"

"Do you know who came for her?"

"No. I've heard tales that the duke himself came."

…

"Mama!"

Smiling, Anne Marie picks up her son. "Hello, my lord," she answers, kissing him. "You're even more of a man than the last time I saw you."

"Can I meet the King and Queen, Mama?"

"No," she answers. "Harry, you need to stay out of sight until you and Grandmother can return home."

"Yes, Mama," he answers with a sigh.

"Harry, why don't you go and pick some flowers from the garden by the fountains for your mother?"

"Yes, Grandpa," he answers, squirming.

Reluctantly, Anne Marie sets him down.

Once he's run off, Lord Thomason tells his daughter-in-law, "Harry's going to get the impression you don't want him here."

"I don't want him here," she answers, watching her son from the window. "The Duke of Northumberland hates me, Barnaby is too busy praying for the fanatical Princess to help me, and Stokes is far away. We all know his desire for his mistress is his real reason for wanting Lord Dudley gone."

"I'll always protect Harry."

"And who will protect you? You're a minor lord, and the King's never specifically sought your opinion alone."

"Anne Marie-"

"I'm sorry, Father. Coming to court was obviously a bad idea. I wanted to protect the Queen, make her happier, and now, everything I care about is in danger."

"I want him destroyed, too," Lord Thomason says, quietly. "You mustn't worry about Harry, Anne Marie. I've always protected you and him."

…

Scheming mothers are a nuisance, Jean Culpepper thinks in irritation as she tries to ignore the glares of her other ladies.

The provocative dress is her mother's fault, not hers, and if she had her way, she'd find a nice vicar to marry. However, ever since the Queen's quarrel with the King, her mother's been insisting she try to worm her way into his majesty's bed. 'Give him a child, it doesn't even need to be a boy, and we'll be set for life.'

Her cousin, Thomas Culpepper, died. She doesn't know if he was innocent, or if, for once, King Henry killed a truly guilty man and adulterous Queen. She does know that, while her child would likely be safe, several people would be out for her blood.

Lady Frances, Kat, and Anne Marie would all try to destroy her, and she doubts she'd be able to make enough of an impression on the King, even with a living heir, that he'd save her. Never mind that she genuinely likes Queen Jane; the woman works tirelessly in dispensing charity and is always reading and writing new proposals to better help the common people. Jean knows the Queen desperately loves her husband and wants to give him a child.

There's a knock on the door, and a courtier enters. "Lady Jean, since her majesty is occupied with Archbispoh Cranmer, his majesty wishes for you to play chess with him."

Jean has always been proud of the fact she's the only lady-in-waiting who can truly play the game. Now, she wishes she'd never badgered her stepsister into teaching her.

"Come, ladies," Lady Joan Elton, one of the matrons, says, setting her embroidery aside.

"Madam, the King wishes Lady Jean to come alone," the courtier says, his eyes very obviously looking at Jean in a way no gentleman should be looking.

"I'm sure King Edward will understand that a lady, especially one of the Queen's, ought not to be walking around unescorted," Lady Joan says, firmly, causing Jean to feel a rush of relief and gratitude.

"I'm to escort her."

"We all know of that village girl who died giving birth to your bastard child, bless both of their souls," is the biting reply as she crosses herself. "Ladies, come. If his majesty doesn't wish for us to stay, we will, naturally, comply, but I highly doubt he'll object to us escorting Lady Jean."

…

The King is a cold man, so unlike his gentle wife.

Lady Jane is quiet and often distracted by printed words, but she's kind and attentive to others.

King Edward, however, seems to look through people and rarely smiles. The first time Jean can remember him laughing was when he was having a private conversation with Lady Jane, then still Lady Dudley.

And now, she finds herself alone in a room with this cold, hard man who has the power to take her virginity and make her a whore. Though, thankfully, the door is open, and the table is in direct view of it. There are some napping dogs on the bed, as well. She prays it will all stay that way.

"Majesty," she says, curtsying and despising her mother.

He motions for her to set down, the chessboard set up. "If you can win, do so," he tells her.

"Yes, sire," she answers, wishing she knew if that meant she should try her best to win or make sure she doesn't.

For several minutes, they play in awkward silence.

"How is my wife?"

"Sire? I believe the Queen is well; she and Archbishop Cranmer are meeting several local priests and other religious figures to try to help get prostitutes respectable positions."

"Yes, I'm aware," he answers, coolly. "I meant- since the incident last week, how has she been?"

Feeling even more awkward, tentatively hoping this means- something other than her current fears, Jean thinks very carefully before she speaks. "Her majesty isn't angry, but I- I think she might be sad. She hasn't told me anything of what happened. All I have is my own interpretations and musings."

"And what would you suggest?"

"As I said, sire, I don't properly know the facts."

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

She looks at him, and suddenly, Jean is overwhelmed with pity. He's barely seventeen, and yet, he looks so much older.

"Your majesty-" Taking a deep breath, she says, "Queen Jane loves you deeply. I've never been in love, but I've seen it often enough in others. There are- rumours, sire, about the lack of children being the issue."

"And say that is the problem," he answers, looking at her curiously.

Trying not to squirm, she answers, "I suppose, it depends on which is more affected. If it's the Queen's, I don't know what could help; you know her better than any of us, save perhaps her sisters. If it's you, I suppose, you must- decide-"

"Queen Jane is my wife until death do us part," he interrupts, his voice unyielding.

"Then, perhaps, if you do something to show her, something that will wipe away any of her fears and doubts?"

"I have no idea what, and nor, it seems do any of my male courtiers. I'd thought a lady might be of more help."

Finally, Jean fully relaxes and finds herself winning the game. "Sire, I apologise if this is terrible advice, but you and Queen Jane have always seemed to share a very honest relationship. Assuming her sadness is your fault, if you simply talk to her, explain how much you love her, and perhaps, apologise and ask her how you can make things right, I believe she will soon be happy again."

"Thank you, Lady Jean," he says, giving her a grateful smile. "I'll have the guards escort you back to her majesty's chambers."

…

Later, Jean nervously inquires, "Highness, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Certainly, Lady Culpepper," Queen Jane says, nodding the others away.

Ignoring the venom-filled look Lady Kat sends her way, Jean says, "Your grace, rumours are numerous at this court, and I don't know how fast you hear them. Earlier today, the King sent for me. I want to assure you that nothing happened and that I would never actively try to tempt him. We played chess, and the door was opened the whole time. The white-spotted dog, the black lab, and the old, golden one given by Princess Anne of Cleves all slept on the bed."

Jane nods. "Thank you for telling me, Lady Culpepper," she says, inclining her head. "I'm blessed to have a faithful husband, but because of his position, I wouldn't be able to blame any woman he wished to bed for complying. I'll be sure your reputation doesn't suffer for this. Did you win, Madam?"

"Yes, Mistress," Jean answers, as she finds herself awed by the Queen's kindness and wisdom.

…

That night, when Edward curls into bed with her, Jane reaches out to take his hand.

"Jane-"

"You must promise me something," she interrupts, her voice unsteady.

"Of course, my love," he says, surprised. "You know I will."

Taking a breath, tightening her hold on her hand, she says, "If I do this- if I conceive a child not of your seed, you have to promise you'll never resent me. You have to promise you'll never resent the child. You have to promise you'll never use this against me."

"If this doesn't work, I can understand you taking a mistress, but if it does, you have to promise I'll always belong to you and that you'll always belong to me. You have to understand that such thoughts have never crossed my mind, that if they had, I would have firmly batted them away, and that I would only be doing this for you. I don't want anyone else, Edward, and I would never break my marriage vows to you. I would be heartbroken if you did. But we both want a child, and the kingdom and the Reformation needs a child. So, if I do this, I want your assurances."

Kissing her, Edward holds her close. "Jane, I swear, I'll love you just as much, if not more, as I do now. The child will be ours. I promise you, I'll never resent you or the baby, and I'll never use this against you. And I will never forsake your bed for another. I love you more than anything and anyone."

Wiping away her tears and kissing him, she says, softly, "Then, I'll do this to try to give us a child."

He sighs in relief and closes his eyes as he pulls her closer.


End file.
